Five Years
by emilief
Summary: Two people walk the thin line of want and friendship. Eventual Juice/OC.
1. Prologue

_**Edit as of Jan 2013: So, this was my first ever attempt at fanfiction, let alone Sons fic. To be totally honest, it's got some Mary-Sue elements, especially in the first few chapters. It does improve (since my own writing matured) and the OC becomes less... ugh around ch 4/5.**  
_

_**I'm not completely sure where I plan on going with this - as I'm more interested in other ideas - but I would like to wrap it up for those who have kindly read, reviewed, and followed this story. Cheers.**_

* * *

_Prologue_

Juice was sitting in front of his computer. Fingers tapping against the keyboard, he mouthed along absentmindedly to the rap song that played from the small speakers. High hats and cymbals kicked to scratches as Guru's voice rhymed.

_I used to guzzle 40s, and own a beat up Caddy_

_Since the hood still love me, I'll turn the heat up daddy_

_I'll take a second to speak, I keep my weapon in reach_

_I ain't talkin' romance but you'll get swept off your feet_

"Turn off the goddamn nigger music," grumbled Piney. Swinging his oxygen bag onto the bar, he fished for a bottle of Patron and took a mighty swig. Juice complied wordlessly. He was used to the old man's racist remarks; after all, he'd been on the receiving end a couple times when Piney was in a foul mood. Since coming to know Piney over the past few years, Juice considered being called "the 'Rican" a heartfelt compliment when not accompanied by swearing.

An hour later, Juice filed in with Piney and the rest of his brothers to the thick-walled room.

Church was, as far as Church went, a boring affair. Darby's Aryan contacts were still keeping an eye out for Opie in Chino. Laroy and the Niners had been pleased with their last shipment. Mayans continued to push the H trade in Oakland, but Irish guns kept them at bay, not to mention out of Charming. Despite being the Intelligence Officer, there wasn't much for Juice to offer intelligence on – for the first time in a long time SAMCRO seemed restless. Something had to go bad, soon. _Paranoia is an occupational hazard_, Juice supposed.

Back in front of the computer, now with beer in hand, Juice surfed absentmindedly, occasionally calling over Bobby to show him something. He swiveled around in his chair at the sound of a heavy crash by the door.

"The fuck, Prospect?" Juice couldn't hold back the smirk.

"I, uh, tripped. Hey, you seen Clay around, man?" Kip dusted off his knees, eyes scanning the room. Juice pointed towards the back hallway but grabbed Kip by the shirt when he started to walk over.

"He's with Gemma. What do you want?" asked Juice.

"I was gonna ask if I could bring somebody to train with. Out in the ring."

"Who? Davey?"

"No, no. Somebody new."

"I'm not going to give the okay if I don't know who it is." Juice crossed his arms.

"It's, uh... well, it's a chick. She boxes. Lumpy won't let her train at the gym so I kinda invited her to train here," said Kip sheepishly. Juice contemplated the brand new Prospect, who was standing there in leather so fresh it still smelt like the farm. _Not that I really know what farms smell like. _Juice smiled inwardly at his thoughts. He didn't take the same pleasure in torturing club hopefuls like the other Sons – probably because he was the most recent patch himself – but didn't see any harm in giving them a bit of tough love. He cut Kip a break this time.

"Whatever. Just don't bring her in the clubhouse."

"Yeah, of course," replied Kip.

"Is she hot?" asked Juice.

* * *

"My name is Wendy, and I am an addict."

"Hi, Wendy." Voices chimed in harmony, greeting her admission. Wendy vaguely felt like she was in a movie, maybe even a daytime soap opera, except this was real life. It was an unfortunate realization, but Wendy Case was a woman of unfortunate circumstances.

"Three weeks ago I gave birth to my son. He was born ten weeks premature with a hole in his stomach and a heart defect. Everyone hates me. I hate me, too." Her voice broke. She sniffled and wiped at her eyes before continuing, words spilling out rapidly. The lie had become so woven in with the truth that Wendy barely noticed it as she spoke. "I... I had a frie-... I had someone bring me crank when I was in the hospital. Asked them to smuggle it in, just enough to end everything. I was being threatened with a child abuse lawsuit; I knew I could never have Abel and I just... wanted to go away. Now I'm here." Wendy exhaled the breath she'd been holding in. "I don't want to die anymore – I want to clean up, get to know my baby boy, make something of myself. I think when I overdosed, I was being given a second chance instead. For me and my son." The last part was no lie, she meant every word.

"Thank you for sharing, Wendy. That was very brave. You're making progress by admitting and accepting your decisions instead of avoiding them. Old Wendy escaped with drugs, but new Wendy will face her problems head on." Jason, the burly Narcotics Anonymous group counselor, placed a tender hand on her knee and gave it a squeeze before turning back to the group. He wrapped up the rest of the session with encouraging words, and told Wendy he looked forward to seeing her next Tuesday night as she walked out the door. It was an intentionally binding statement.

"Got a light?"

Wendy turned to the female voice. She was young, perhaps mid-twenties, with long, dark brown hair. No knockout, but attractive, in a kind of distinct and angular way; long, thinly pointed nose, pronounced cheekbones, sharp jawline, and green eyes. Wendy fleetingly wondered if the girl was partly Asian, or maybe American-Indian, before extending her lighter.

They both puffed away, silent. Wendy broke the calm.

"Kicking this shit is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done. It'll make pregnancy look like a cake walk."

"It gets better. The first few weeks were especially bad, I remember."

"How long have you been clean?" asked Wendy.

"A little over five years."

"Congrats."

The girl shrugged. Finishing off their cigarettes, they both said goodbye and left the community center in opposite directions. Wendy realized she'd never asked her name. But maybe it was best not to get attached to people, after all.

* * *

_Writer's Note:_ This story begins in season one, though Opie's release from jail is delayed. Kip still goes by his given name for the moment; the Half-Sack nickname will come in soon enough. The story has an intended arc that spans to present day, and explores relationships between **Wendy, Juice, Half-Sack, Kozik**, and other secondary characters to the alluded-to OC. I'm interested in the lives of Sons members outside of the **Jax/Clay/Tara/Gemma** paradigm, and how a sympathetic outside voice can bring light to their feelings while exploring her own story.

It's something I've been working on for a while, and I have approximately **35 000 written words on (digital) paper**. This prologue serves as a teaser and an introduction to my writing style. I'd** appreciate ANY constructive feedback** on how readable and convincing any of the formatting, dialogue, flow, and canon characters are. Or general reviews!

(update: I got some different bits of feedback on the inclusion of the n-word, and although I felt horrible writing it, I stand by thinking it is a plausible statement from the evidently racist Piney. Race is going to play a part in this story; obviously for Juice, but also for the OC.)


	2. Indian

Kip wondered what he'd gotten himself into as he watched black sludge drip into the coffee pot.

"Piece of shit," he said. The coffee maker didn't seem offended. Instead, it continued to create something resembling slimy pudding at the bottom of the glass pot for him. Sighing, Kip tipped the contents into the sink. Tig wouldn't be happy that there'd be no morning coffee when he opened at TM, but it was 4:50am and Kip's new training partner was due any moment. _Seriously, what did I get myself into here? _he asked himself again.

He'd first seen her at Lumpy's. The door had jingled - he'd heard Lumpy's aged voice, and then heard ringing in his ears as Davey clocked him in the side of the head. Kip hadn't been paying attention to the practice match he was in the middle of. But before he re-focused on pummeling Davey with his gloved fists, he managed a glimpse of a girl with long hair hopping on a bike and riding off.

Two days later, he had been at Ruby's Diner.

_Kip sat at the counter, absentmindedly tearing a napkin as he waited to pick up the guys' lunch orders. The garage had been swamped with work lately, bringing everyone in for overtime shifts starting at 6am. He smiled at Ruby, the diner's namesake and owner, as she swept up the mess of paper napkin on the counter in front of him. Ruby wagged a finger in mock disapproval before walking off to greet a waiting customer. He knew she wasn't really mad. Teller-Morrow Garage was one of her best customers, sending someone a couple times a week to pick up some of her famous club sandwiches. (That someone had lately been Kip, as he was the newest mechanic, not to mention SAMCRO prospect.)  
_

_Ruby reappeared a minute later, placing the large lunch order in front of him. "Well look at this, someone's got a motorcycle for sale. Any of the boys in that club of yours need a new ride?" Ruby slid a white sheet of paper across the counter to Kip._

_"What?" replied Kip, examining the paper. It was an older model Indian, specs listed with the photo, and "FOR SALE" in a large font at the top. There wasn't a cellphone or home number listed, just a motel phone with a room number for reference._

_Ruby huffed. The boy could be slow sometimes. "Young lady just came in the diner. Said she's trying to sell a bike, wondered if I could post her sign."  
_

_Kip glanced out the large window. Heard the roar of an engine, and saw a black helmet slide over a head of long brown hair. As the motorcycle drove off, he wondered if it was the same girl who'd been at Lumpy's gym several days ago._

_"Hon?" Ruby looked at him expectantly._

_"Oh, uh, yeah. I'll ask around the garage." Kip grabbed his order off the counter and hustled for the door. Remembering, he called out a hurried thanks to Ruby over his shoulder.  
_

_The older woman simply shook her head and chuckled. Looking at the counter, she saw that he forgot the motorcycle ad in his haste to deliver lunch._

Kip had nearly forgotten about the girl until she showed up at Teller Morrow on Wednesday. Gemma sometimes gave him Wednesdays off, depending on how charitable she was feeling. She must've either hit her head or become the goddamn Mother Teresa because he'd had yesterday off, despite the backlog of work orders at the garage. But he hadn't been about to complain about his sudden freedom and had decided to make the most of his day. So Kip had made sure to avoid Jax – the last thing he'd wanted was to get roped into prospect duties, like toilet cleaning. Someone had been flushing used panties down lately and it made the toilet a bitch to unclog.

In the middle of his training, as he punished every grain of sand inside the heavy bag, a motorcycle had roared into the lot. One of the first things he'd learned as a prospect was that the sound of an engine being cut probably meant someone needed you to do something – but when he'd whipped his head around to look at which club member had just arrived, he'd realized it'd been no club patch after all. _Bobby and Juice might be fussy about their hairstyles, but neither of them had long, shiny girl hair. _She'd been quite the vision as she placed her helmet on the seat and gave her head a shake. Kip had slipped off his gloves and given his sweaty body a towel off before walking towards the newcomer.

* * *

_"Hi, I'm Kip. Looking for someone?"_

_"Is there a manager around I could speak to?"_

_Kip frowned slightly. She wasn't exactly being rude, but she'd brushed off his introduction. He was curious and wanted to know the name of the girl with the bike. Especially since Kip didn't know any girls that knew how to ride. He examined her, now that he was finally able to see more than a cascade of brown hair. If Kip were better at making coffee, he would have classified her as two creams and two sugars. The caramel shade of her skin was definitely more appealing than croweater-orange, and despite the big nose, she was kinda hot. Maybe a little intense, looks-wise, but Kip had realized after a stint in the army that chicks who could boss you around gave him one hell of a chubby. (Sgt. McGregor had been a real sexy, demanding bitch. He still dreamed of that woman.)_

_He ran a hand through sweat-slicked hair before replying. "Yeah, that'd be Gemma. Hang on a sec, I'll go find her."_

_Kip walked into the TM office, barely knocking before swinging the door open. Papers were stacked high everywhere, evidence of the recent uptick in business. Gemma peered over a pair of slim reading glasses at him._

_"Lady outside. Looking for a manager," he said simply._

_"Put on a shirt," countered Gemma, standing and striding past him._

_When Kip returned from his room in the clubhouse, having finally found a tee, he saw that Gemma was still talking to the brunette in the lot. He watched as they headed into the office._

_"Who's that?" inquired Juice, from somewhere behind him._

_"That, me old mucker, is 130 pounds of cock riding giggity," answered Chibs. Juice snickered, slapping Chibs on the shoulder before grabbing Kip in a headlock._

_"Aw lay off Juice, you're covered in grease. I just put on this shirt!"_

_"Trying to impress someone Prospect?"_

_"C'mon Juicy, we've gotta get back to work." Chibs pulled Juice off him, then gave Kip a shove towards the brunette, who was now exiting Gemma's office. "Go find out the little lass' name," he said._

_"And give her my number!" interrupted Juice._

_Huffing, Kip walked to the bike. The brunette was writing the same motel phone number on a large "FOR SALE" sign, which she placed on the handlebars._

_"Selling?" he inquired._

_"Yeah, I need the money."_

_"That sucks. It's a really nice machine."_

_She smiled a bit. "Thanks, it was my dad's."_

_Scuffing his boot against the ground, Kip looked up at her. "Hey, did I see you at Lumpy's Gym couple days back?"_

_"Maybe. I tried to see if I could train there..." she didn't make eye contact with him as she continued. "Wish he would have given me a chance, but I get it." She shrugged her shoulders, acting as if she didn't care._

_"You box?" asked Kip, slightly surprised._

_"Yeah. There's this open fight night in Lodi every month, and you can make some decent money."_

_"I know the one you're talking about. I'm training for next month's."_

_"Oh. Nice. Well, good luck with that...er..." she seemed to be struggling to remember his name._

_"Kip," he supplied._

_"Kip. Right." She extended a hand. "Maxine."_

_"Nice to meet you."_ _They stood there a few moments, looking at the bike and everywhere but each other, before Maxine interrupted._

_"Anyway, I should get going."_

_"You can train here. If you want. With me and stuff." The words tumbled out before Kip really had a chance to think them over._ _She looked at him quizzically._

_"You sure you're cool with that?"_

_"Yeah. I mean, if you're cool with it..." his voice trailed off._

_"You free early tomorrow morning?" she asked. Kip nodded._

_"How about if I come by and we try it out? If it doesn't work, no hard feelings."_

* * *

Kip had lost track of time. Shaking his head of memories, he swore at himself and rushed outside. It was beyond quarter after five, and Maxine was milling around her bike, looking as though she about to leave. Rushing over, he apologized then led her to his makeshift 'boxing temple'. Despite only beginning prospecting two months ago, Kip was proud of the workout supplies he'd amassed in his short time with the club. Boxing training with Chibs had expanded beyond throwing fists in the boxing ring and hitting the heavy bag. The club was now outfitted with a new speed bag, focus mitts, skipping ropes, a pullup bar, and other assorted workout items.

Maxine headed into a washroom to change, and when she emerged, she wore a small, loose pair of grey cotton shorts, and a black sports bra. Kip swallowed. She had a nice body. Like, a really nice body. Subtle flat abs in the way only girls could achieve, and toned, slim legs. She had a couple tattoos: a long line of numbers trailing up her wrist halfway to her elbow, something peeking from her ankle that he couldn't quite make out, and a large piece in red and black covering her shoulder. And even with the sports bra, he could tell she had decent tits.

She pulled on a white tank as she walked over to Kip, picking up a pair of skipping ropes. He only really half-paid attention as she went on about training routines, all business. Soon, he was working up a sweat, having stretched, skipped, and avoided (as much as possible) watching the way her chest bumped up and down every time she jumped. He put on the focus mitts, surprised at the fury and strength behind Maxine's punches. _She still punches like a girl_, he conceded, _but a tough one at least_.

Both their shirts had been peeled off and thrown into wet heaps on the ground by the time TM staff started to arrive an hour later. Kip wasn't surprised to see the interested faces looking across the lot at the sparring pair. He and Maxine had only just laced their gloves on minutes prior and finally stepped into the ring, feeling out each other's strengths and weaknesses. Kip knew Maxine wasn't much of a match in size, considering he had at least forty pounds and several inches on her, but she seemed a better match than Davey in terms of technique. His usual sparring partner from Lumpy's was lazy. Davey relied on anger and his weight advantage over Kip, whereas Maxine's demeanor was calm and her hits calculated instead of sloppy. She landed a blow to the side of his head, and Kip heard laughter from the side of the ring.

"Shit, Prospect. I knew you punched like a girl but I didn't expect you to start training with one." Maxine glanced at the speaker. Tig winked at her.

"Hey dollface."

"Whatever, man," replied Kip, ignoring him. Maxine seemed to decide to do the same. She squared her shoulders again and bounced on her toes.

For the next hour as they practiced - switching between sparring, going at the bags, and the odd water break - the two tried to ignore the ever-present crowd. Some, mainly Tig, made comments. Others, like Chibs and Happy, offered the odd pointer. Piney simply watched in silence from his chair. Jax and Juice stood off to the side, grinning at each other and watching the beads of sweat form small rivers down Maxine's tight body.

"You didn't mention your new training partner was biker girl," Juice commented at one point, after staring for a while. Juice shot one of his stupid big smiles at Maxine, and to Kip's surprise, she'd given him a shy smile back.

By 7am, Kip was positively dripping.

"Had enough for today?" asked Maxine.

"Aw come off it. Like you aren't exhausted."

"Yeah. Good workout," she replied, giving a light punch to his shoulder.

"So... This mean we're training buddies?"

"If you're cool with it..."

Kip laughed, remembering their awkward first chat yesterday.

"I'm cool with it."

A short while later, after a shower and a quick breakfast in the Redwood kitchen, Kip walked over to TM. He felt good. Maxine wasn't his ideal partner, but he could tell his muscles would have a satisfying ache tomorrow. Plus, she seemed just as eager as him to practice, which was far more than he could say for Davey.

Before he'd even made it to the garage door, the ribbing began.

"Hey ladyfists."

"Is that how you treat all the pretty girls?"

"Well now there's definitely no way I'm ever putting money on you."

When Bobby clapped a hand on his shoulder and told him the toilet was plugged again he was relieved at the escape from the taunting. That was, until he entered the bathroom.

_These guys are real fuckin' animals, _huffed Kip.

* * *

_Writer's Note:_ I wrote most of this content for this story a quite a while ago, and it was originally told in present tense. Hence the heavy use of italics - sorry! My apologies for the extensive descriptions of OC, too. There's a ton of imagery for her now, so consider it out of the way. Her appearance plays a part in her character, which I hope will make sense as I develop the story more.

And thank you to anyone who reviewed and/or followed. I always found writer's notes annoying when they begged for reviews, but now I completely understand! It really pushes you to get that next chapter out. Everything was very helpful, and I would love any feedback for this chapter. I know I took some liberties with Kip/Half-Sack... does it seem believable?


	3. Burner

"Why don't you have a cellphone? Getting a hold of you is a freaking pain," complained Kip.

"I'm not very good with technology," replied Maxine. Kip could detect the embarrassment in her face. He didn't know much about what she did or where she was from – boxing wasn't generally conducive to deep talks – but he could read her body like a book after training together almost every morning.

"Everyone has a phone. I'll ask Juice to give you one."

"It's okay, really. I'm fine. I don't need one," she insisted. If he wasn't mistaken, Maxine looked almost... panicked. _Weird_, wondered Kip. _What'd I say?_

"Sorry." He shrugged. "Didn't mean to offend you. I just think you're kind of behind on the times." Even though it was the first time he'd said something to her, it wasn't the first time the thought had crossed his mind. Sometimes it seemed like Maxine had dropped out of nowhere. She didn't know anything about music, or television, or movies. Chicks always seemed to be so into that celebrity shit, but she'd looked at him blankly when he said he thought a certain actress was hot.

"Fine, you're right. I should get a cellphone, and if Juice could help, I'd appreciate it." She dragged her fingers through her hair, stopping to pick at the ends before looking back up at him. "Let's just... practice. I'll figure out the phone thing later."

"Okay," was all Kip could manage to say. He was surprised she'd agreed.

She was so strange sometimes. Kip could probably count on one hand the things he knew about Maxine, favourite colour being teal aside. There were days when she'd chatter as they took a water break and tell him something completely unprovoked, but then she'd spend the next 4 practice sessions barely saying more than ten words. Last week, she'd mentioned her shoulder tattoo. It was beautiful ink – even Happy had commented on the artistry to Kip – but Maxine had always kept her mouth shut about her tattoos. Their conversation had inadvertently solved part of Kip's silent questions about her heritage.

_"It's traditional Haida artwork; the bear catching a salmon. They're both inside of a circle, unified and connected. See?" Kip had watched, fascinated, as her finger traced along her skin. She pointed out the paw of the bear, reaching for the salmon's tail._

_"So you're an Indian then?" Kip asked her. Maxine grimaced slightly at the term, but nodded her head. "I was seventeen and wanted a big piece to show off. A guy on rez did it for me. Good thing I still like it, at least." Kip wondered what rez was, but Maxine had disappeared inside her head again and gestured at him to pick up a skipping rope._

* * *

Juice smirked when Kip asked him to help Maxine with her cellphone issue. The prospect warned him that she wasn't too great with technology, but Juice hadn't imagined her to be _this_ bad. However, he stayed patient. She was funny. Her face scrunched up when she got frustrated, and she was so obvious about trying to keep her aggravation hidden.

"Okay, you hold and press the red End Call button to turn on the phone." He held out the burner to her and led her finger to press the button with his hand. It was like training a child. Texting seemed too confusing, so he spent half-an-hour explaining how to charge the phone, make and receive a call, and check voicemail.

"So this is mine?" Maxine looked almost reverent.

"Uh, yeah. It's nothing fancy; all the burners are shit phones."

"This is amazing. Thank you, Juice." She placed a gentle kiss to his cheek and hugged him tightly. He liked it when she said his name – Maxine had a slight accent that he couldn't quite place. Being an outsider himself had made him acutely aware of anyone else who didn't possess the confident California lilt.

"Are you staying for Bobby's party tonight?" Juice asked.

"Oh... it's his birthday, right? Kip mentioned something earlier, but I already made plans."

Juice was surprised at the twinge of disappointment he felt. Maxine left soon after, and he tinkered with his bike for a while until the usual crowd started piling in and the drinks began flowing. It didn't take long for Happy and Tig to hop in the ring, and for a drunken Chibs to yell at Kip for serving his customary Jameson in the wrong glass. ("Et's the one with the pair o' dice on 'et, ya dumb shet!")

"Fifty-six is a beautiful thing, brother," slurred Bobby. Juice grinned at him. "I think it's gonna be my best birthday yet." Bobby had both arms slung around two croweaters and nuzzled his face into the chest of a third. Seeing the girls stirred Juice to head off and find his own.

Soon, a brunette named Layla giggled as he led her to his room.

"Wow, it's so... clean," she commented. Juice didn't reply since everyone said that about his room. Instead, he reached around and slid his hands under her short black skirt. She moaned as he touched her and sucked at her neck. Most Sons didn't bother with pleasing croweaters. But fake moaning really turned him off, so he took the time to learn their names and warm them up – it kept them feeling special and him feeling less like he used them. Plus, he was good at it.

_Want me, _he asked silently.

He shuffled in his nightstand table, shoving aside a glass weed pipe, and pulled out an accordion of condoms. Groaning, he watched Layla pull down his pants and roll the condom onto him with her mouth. He grew impatient with the speed of things and pushed her to the bed, settling between her legs. Being inside someone felt like home.

"Oh, baby, you're so fucking big, I'm gonna come, oh," said Layla in a breathy, false voice. It was moments like these that ruined the illusion and made Juice remember he was just screwing somebody that the whole club had been with. The thought was irritating. He wasn't interested in her pleasure anymore. His thrusting grew rough and Layla's moans stopped. Juice finished; pulled out of her without a word. As he rolled onto his side, he could hear her getting dressed, and he tried to make sense of the thoughts that spun around his head.

_Things have been tense lately – it feels like shit's about to go down. _He chalked his treatment of the croweater up to stress, but knew that in truth, he took it out on her for not giving him what he wanted. It wasn't fair to expect a quick fuck to give him something real – croweaters were a convenience, nothing more. Until Jax had offered him shelter with the Sons, Juice had never known what it felt like to be truly loved by other people. He wouldn't trade Christmas dinners at Gem and Clay's for the world, though he wished that he could find the sense of completeness he felt with his adopted family in other aspects of life. _Get it together, Ortiz. Just get your dick wet and stop thinking so much, _he chided himself. It was hard to stop his brain though, it was always working overtime. His mind drifted to Maxine. He unconsciously smiled at the memory of her technological ineptitude. They couldn't be more opposite in that aspect, but it didn't bother him. There was a calm intensity and seriousness in everything she did, and watching her train with Kip was always fun. She was interesting, and not bad to look at either. As he buckled his pants and headed for the door, he decided he'd invite her to have lunch with him tomorrow.

Maybe he'd even teach her how to send a text.

* * *

Kip and Maxine had cemented a consistent routine. She showed up four mornings a week and they practiced from five 'til seven am. They still never talked much, but after three weeks in Charming, she seemed to be staying. Maxine mentioned she'd been looking at apartments, and was planning on signing a lease soon. However, it wasn't really apparent how she was paying for anything. Any mention of work was brushed off with "odd jobs" as an answer. _Maybe she comes from big oil money and she's run away from home._ The thought was ridiculous, but given the info he had, it was as good as any other guess. After knowing her this long, Kip realized that Maxine wouldn't tell you anything until she wanted to and was damn well ready.

Kip had never been friends with a girl, but it was nice. She didn't act like most girls he knew, and didn't seem to have much for other friends, anyway. But he took it as a sign of their growing comfort around each other when she told him he could call her "Max" or "Maxie," for short. Nicknames were inevitability around TM, though Kip was still waiting on his.

He wouldn't have to wait much longer.

The night began as usual: Kip serving out drinks from behind the bar, before eventually being replaced by another prospect. Just as he settled into the couch, beer in hand and croweater at his side, Tig's bellowing could be heard from the door.

"Half-Sack! Your little girlfriend's here!"

Kip groaned, hoping the nickname wouldn't stick. _Again_. Kip, or Half-Sack as he was formerly known, had told Tig and a few of the other guys earlier that day about his tour of duty in Iraq, and its abrupt, rather comedic ending that inspired a nickname for him among his troop.

"Half-Sack?" Maxine had suddenly materialized in front of him. She was laughing. Kip liked her best when she laughed - her face softened and lost the sombre quality it so often had. He let out a chuckle. He was glad she'd shown up to a SAMCRO party, finally taking him up on one of many invitations.

"It's a bit of a story... Hey, you look hot," he noted. She did, honestly. Makeup made her eyes greener, if possible, and her lips were a pleasing rosy colour. A grey top hugged her chest, and tight black jeans cinched with leather and silver buckled belt showed off that body he trained so hard with. She looked downright feminine.

"Thanks," she replied, sheepishly. As she spoke, a pair of hands snaked around her waist from behind, and a husky male voice spoke beside her ear.

"What's your name darlin'?"

Maxine rolled her eyes. "Hi Jax."

"Aw fuck, hey Maxie. Didn't recognize you without the sweaty gym gear." Juice appeared at Jax's side, laughing at his mistake.

"So, _darlin'_, want something to drink?" Juice asked, his tone mocking the Vice President's slick moves.

Kip watched Maxine disappear towards the bar with Juice, feeling perhaps a little jealous. Next to him, Juice was the one Maxine got along best with. While she was quiet and private, he was chatty and goofy, quick to smile and laugh. Maxine seemed content to sit and listen to Juice talk about everything and nothing, seldom adding to the conversation and occasionally letting one of her rare smiles show. Kip had noticed they'd began to spend almost as many lunches together as he did mornings with Maxine - Juice was more than happy to show her how to fix things on cars and bikes, gesturing wildly with sandwich in hand.  
Under Juice's supervision, she'd been tinkering with her dad's old Indian, which still, after three weeks, sat in the TM lot with the same "FOR SALE" sign. It seemed no offer nor potential buyer was acceptable. Kip was just waiting for her to realize she couldn't sell the bike, despite her insistence.

* * *

"Two beers, Prospect." Juice commanded the bespectacled guy behind the bar.

"Wanna smoke?" he asked Maxine, beers in hand.

"I told you I'm trying to quit."

"Not what I asked," he replied. Maxine sighed dramatically. She grabbed a water bottle from behind the bar and followed him outside.

Juice handed her a cigarette from his pack, and smirked as Maxine begrudgingly accepted it with a thanks. He liked smoking. For more than the calm of the nicotine rush too. Juice liked smoking because it was immediate intimacy - there was an unspoken thoughtfulness behind lighting someone's cigarette, your hands curling together to shield the flame, or bumming a smoke off somebody, quietly understanding your shared dependency. He simply liked people. And smoking was just another way to be around them.

In specific though, he liked Maxine. When she told him a few days ago she wanted to quit, he worried that she'd suddenly find him gross, that maybe she wouldn't want to come around and spend lunch breaks with him anymore. But she didn't, and she still did. He considered her as fast becoming a very good friend. Maybe even his best friend. She was more accepting than Chibs, less distracted than Jax, and certainly nicer than Tig. He just wished she'd talk more, tell him stories, things about herself.

Maybe tonight she would, with a little liquor in her system. But as Juice held the beer out to her, she waved it off.

"What? Are you sober or something?"

"Uh, just not in the mood to drink." Her fingers combed through her hair, and it suddenly clicked that this was her nervous tic. Juice filed the information away for later and watched her hands.

"So what's the deal with the numbers?" he asked, gesturing towards the tattoo imprinted on her wrist. Since it was dark out, Juice didn't notice that Maxine's face had slightly blanched.

"What?" She took a long drag from her cigarette.

"The tattoo? I told you the stories behind all of mine, figured I should at least ask about one of yours."

"It's, ah, my number."

"What, like how many people you've slept with? Because you're really putting Jax to shame," he joked.

She didn't match his light mood. "My... inmate number."

Juice didn't even try to stop his mouth from dropping open.

"Holy fuck. You went to prison? For how long?"

Maxine evidently hadn't been expecting to answer all these questions, at least not tonight. She stared down at her boots, grinding her cigarette butt into the dirt, unable to look Juice in the eye. She answered quietly.

"Five years."

"You're only twenty-three though... You've been in prison since you were eighteen? How long ago did you get out?"

"I was seventeen when I got caught, spent five months in juvenile detention until my eighteenth birthday, then I was transferred to an adult facility. I was released just over five weeks ago."

"Wow." Juice ran a hand over the short hair of his mohawk, suddenly feeling like he knew nothing about Maxine.

"I got the tattoo two years into my sentence. I wanted to make sure I'd never forget how badly I fucked up."

"Can I ask what you did?"

"You can ask, but... I really think that's a story best left for another time." Her voice drifted off, and she looked at her feet again, obviously embarassed at her admission.

Maxine was suddenly swept up in a hug. Juice's arms wrapped around her, holding her close. It was closer than they'd ever been. In the three weeks he'd known her, Juice had never hugged Maxine, nor had she him. He rested on top of her head, taking in her scent: clean. It was strange since he was so used to associating women with heavy perfumes. Maxine didn't really smell like anything, except for the faint linger of soap and a cigarette.

"I'm proud of you for telling me that. I won't tell anyone. You can trust me." he murmured softly into her hair, letting the weight of his words tumble down. And at the word trust, he felt Maxine hug him back. Her arms circled his waist, and her head nestled against his chest.

They stood there. Silently holding each other. And Juice realized that in the past ten minutes, he'd met his best friend.

* * *

_Writer's Note_: I really hope that Maxine's revelation managed to be _somewhat_ surprising. It was time to explain why she was so out of the loop, culturally and technologically. Since this story so far is following from season 1, it's currently 2008. I certainly didn't have a cellphone circa 2003, and I don't know that many seventeen year olds would have either. The fallout from losing formative years of her life will be explored starting in chapter 5.

I don't picture Maxine's guardedness as an innate quality, but rather a product of her experiences. Opening up to Juice is setting her up for her first friendship in a long time, and I see her as foreshadowing of the change Juice goes through post-season three.

As always, I'd love your feedback. I've so far been posting a chapter or two nightly, and any constructive words help in encouraging me to continue doing so.


	4. Fight

His fingers drummed on his computer desk. It'd been two days since the party; two days since Maxine told him she'd been in prison for the past five years. And the topic hadn't been addressed since, which was driving Juice crazy. He always prided himself on knowing everything about everyone, but he'd _somehow_ managed to miss the fact that his new best friend had been in lockup for five fucking years. His head was busy, trying to process all his thoughts. Juice began to catalogue all the things he knew about Maxine; She was twenty-three, she grew up in and around Vancouver, her mom passed away when she was twelve, her favourite colour was teal (according to Kip), she had an older brother and sister...

Collectively, Juice had himself served exactly seven months and nine days in prison. All back when he lived in Queens. His record ranged from 'vandalism' to 'illegal use of a motor vehicle" to his worst charge, which he served six months for: 'hacking and identity theft.' Juice was itching to know what Maxine did. He knew that he could find out in less than half an hour, but he also knew that would be cheating his friend. She deserved to tell him the truth herself.

He blew out a heavy breath. The other thing he knew was that he was the club's Intelligence Officer. It was his job to find everything out about anyone the club associated with - it hadn't really crossed his mind to look her up before because she only really trained with Kip and occasionally had lunch with him at TM. She wasn't a club contact and hadn't even been to anything SAMCRO related 'til two days ago.  
After more contemplation, Juice decided to give her a week to tell him before he did digging of his own. Her fight night in Lodi would be over, and she wouldn't be so caught up in training.

Still impatient, he went off to find someone to talk to as a distraction. He looked across the room, noticing Tig had entered. Maybe Tig would be up for some bonding. He grinned widely at that thought, knowing there was no chance of that.

"Do you permanently look like a goofy idiot?"

_Yeah, no chance, _thought Juice ruefully.

* * *

It was Friday night, and instead of the usual SAMCRO banger in the clubhouse, the club was headed to Lodi to drink, bet money, and watch some underground, illegal bare knuckle boxing.

Juice saw that Maxine had arrived at the lot, duffle bag slung over a shoulder. "Ready to beat someone up?" He threw a few phantom punches at her head and side, making whooshing sound effects with his mouth.

"Yeah, you," replied Maxine, landing an actual punch in his gut. It even hurt a little, if he was honest with himself.

"Anyway, I was wondering if you wanted a ride to Lodi. You can double with me if you want."

Maxine actually laughed. "I'm not gonna ride bitch! But thanks. Kip and I are headed out now in the van anyway, we've gotta warm up."

"You can ride back with me then, don't worry," he grinned.

"Oh, get over yourself dude. I'll see you later though, I really do have to go now." Maxine started to walk off.

"Hey!" Juice reached out to grab her arm, giving her a quick hug. "Good luck out there, Max. Can't wait to see you make some girl cry." He flashed one of his signature toothy grins. Sometimes, it seemed like Juice wasn't actually smiling, and was instead trying to show off absolutely all of his teeth. This was one of those times.

* * *

The warehouse in Lodi was _packed_. Both Juice and Chibs had placed large odds on Maxine winning her fight, even though she wasn't the favourite. Upon arrival, they'd found out that her opponent was nicknamed "The Juice" which Juice personally found immensely amusing, mainly because he was drunk. Other club members had placed varied odds on Half-Sack - now no longer Kip - winning his fight. And Tig, ever the devil's advocate, placed huge odds on Sack losing.  
It was three matches into the night, and all SAMCRO members uncounted drinks into oblivion, when Maxine's fight was called up. They made as much noise as humanely possible, and she sent a little wave in their direction as she hopped into the ring.

"Oh fuck," drunkenly yelled Chibs, directly in Juice's ear.

"What?"

"The Juice!"

Juice peered back out to the ring, looking into the corner directly opposite from Maxine. _Oh fuck is right._ The meaning behind the nickname was immediately evident. The woman must've pumped herself full of every steroid available. Maxine was muscular and strong, nicely filling out the black sports bra and shorts she wore, but The Juice was positively bulging out of her clothing. The cornrows on her head were braided so tight that they pulled the ends of her eyebrows up, giving her a comically angry look.

The announcer stepped into the ring, his voice booming around the warehouse. He pointed first at Maxine, then The Juice as he spoke.

"Weighing in at 131 pounds, five feet four inches, Maxine 'Miss Canada' Robichaud! And weighing in at 174 pounds, five feet eight inches, Felisa 'The Juice' Jurado!"

At the mention of The Juice, the crowd lost it. And Juice was in full panic mode by the time the bell sounded for the first round. _She's going to die, Maxine is going to die_. He could barely watch, felt himself being jostled between Chibs and Bobby, who were both yelling themselves hoarse. He looked at the ring.

Maxine was bleeding from a cut on her eyebrow - he watched as she kept swiping the blood away, keeping it from falling into her line of vision. But she wasn't stumbling - in fact, she was incredibly quick on her feet, bobbing and weaving away from Felisa's swings. She was even landing a few uppercuts and punches to the taller woman's frame, taking her shots when Felisa fumbled and was slow to move. Despite Maxine's quickness, Felisa managed to time a devastating hit to her jaw, sending Maxine reeling. She stepped backwards, nearly falling against the ropes, while The Juice lumbered towards her, massive right hand raised. Maxine sidestepped the giantess, landing a punishing jab to her chin. Felisa was the one who stumbled now, while Maxine unleashed a furious assault, raining punches on her opponent who could only seem to raise her hands to defend her face. And suddenly, Felisa tripped over her own feet and fell backwards, hitting the mat. Maxine lept on her, taped fists unrelenting and vicious in their search for soft flesh. She became an animal.

Two referees jumped in, dragging Maxine off of Felisa's body while her coach helped lift her up. The Juice's face was a bloodied mess: a broken nose, a badly split lip, and a swollen eye. Clasping one of Felisa's hands, and one of Maxine's, a referee thrust Maxine's arm into the air, announcing her win.

The SAMCRO section was deafening in their approval. Drinks were thrown into the air, hoarse voices yelled and hollered, and Juice thought he would pass out with joy. Chibs squeezed him tightly, screaming about how he never doubted her. Juice looked back to the ring, where he saw Maxine tentatively approach Felisa's corner and offer a handshake. The Juice looked at her hand, then pulled her into a friendly hug. Maxine walked off, her face glowing with the biggest smile Juice had ever seen on her. As she leaned on the ropes and looked over at his section, he could've sworn he saw her give him a wink.

* * *

He wasn't sure how they all managed to ride their bikes back to Charming from Lodi in one piece, but he didn't really care. He currently had one arm slung around Maxine's shoulders, and the other around Half-Sack's, both victorious friends.

Despite Tig's bet otherwise, Sack completely dominated his match, which had been the last of the night. He'd emerged virtually unscathed, while the same couldn't be said of his opponent, who'd dropped limply to the mat. Maxine had a black eye, a sore jaw, and a gash on her brow, but was in equal good spirits with her training partner.

"Jesus kid," said Chibs, giving Maxine's shoulder a hearty pat, "where'd ya learn to box like that?"

"Five years of prison," Maxine casually replied.

Everyone laughed, thinking she was joking.


	5. Teenagers

"Your eye is healin' up," Juice commented.

"Mm," she replied noncommittally, taking a bite of bean salad.

Juice munched on his sandwich thoughtfully, unsure how to bring up the topic of her prison stint again. His timeline of a week was nearly up.

"You've been unusually quiet lately, what's up? Normally I can never get a word in," said Maxine.

"The whole prison thing... Is that why you're such an idiot with a cellphone?" he ribbed.

"Hey, biker boy, you have no idea how hard that was to admit. It's so embarrassing!" She sounded exasperated, though she smiled thinly. "I am pretty bad with technology though, aren't I?"

"S'okay. You have me to teach you, and I'm the best." Juice shoved the rest of his sandwich in his mouth. Maxine watched him with disgusted interest. "Really humble and well-mannered, too," she muttered. Her look became serious again.

"It's hard to describe. I don't know how to explain what it feels like to suddenly be thrown back into civilian life after five years. You don't relate to anyone, and prison takes so much out of you and changes who you are... I feel pretty lonely sometimes. Especially being in a different country and not knowing anyone." She sighed. "I do feel like an idiot."

Juice was surprised. He'd managed to catch Maxine in one of her chatty moods, and her honesty was unexpected. He didn't know what to say or how to comfort her, so he simply held her hand in solidarity.

"I don't want to freak you out, Max, but... I just have so many questions."

Maxine cocked an eyebrow in response. "Questions like?"

Juice was on a roll now. "Like, why you even went to prison in the first place. You have no idea how badly I want to know about that and –"

Maxine interrupted him.

"Well, I guess I know now." Her mouth was a small, grim line. "I knew it was a massive thing to spring on you... There's just never an easy way to admit these things, so, I just... don't."

"Sorry," said Juice, looking down.

She gently patted his hand. "It's okay. I understand." She sighed, looking at her small silver watch. "Well, how long of a lunch can you take?"

"Doesn't matter," he replied, settling in for a story.

* * *

"Wendy, right?"

"Yeah." Wendy turned in surprise. It was the girl from her first meeting. She seemed to be sporting a fading black eye now, and some bruising on her jaw. "I didn't see you at the last few meetings, it's good to have you back."

"Thanks. I guess I just got busy. I'm Maxine." She extended her hand and gripped Wendy's hand in a firm shake. They walked into the community center together.

"Wendy, Maxine, thank you for coming out tonight." Jason greeted the pair warmly. "Help yourself to donuts and coffee, we begin in five."

"Do you ever wonder what Jason is hiding in that huge beard of his? I swear he could put an entire loaf of bread in there and no one would notice," whispered Maxine conspiratorially. Wendy laughed. She hadn't in a while, and it felt good to smile with someone again - even if it was by joking about the Narcotics Anonymous counselor.

They took their seats and the meeting began. Jason led the discussion, as per usual. Towards the end of the meeting, he asked Maxine if she'd like to share anything, reminding her that she hadn't thus far and that sharing was important to recovery.

"If I remember correctly, you've been clean over five years. That's certainly an important accomplishment, Maxine. Perhaps your story could help some of our newer members on their own journeys?"

Wendy saw Maxine shoot the NA counselor a look, but she nodded.

"I don't really know what to say. I was addicted to heroin, I got sent to prison, I quit. It wasn't like I really had an option." She shrugged.

"But what led you to the path of drugs? And to crime? How did it feel to get clean in the penitentiary system?" probed Jason.

"To be honest, it felt like shit." Maxine laughed, and a few other low chuckles joined her. "I got involved with a motorcycle gang, started muleing heroin across the US-Canada border, and did a little product sampling on the side. I got busted for drug trafficking and went to juvenile detention. My eighteenth birthday present was extradition to the US, interrogation by the DEA, and a new cellmate named Luisa." Maxine tugged her fingers through her hair. "Being seventeen and suddenly trying to kick a massive dope habit was the worst thing I've ever been through. Juvie was awful. I was this pitiful little bag of bones, and my teeth never stopped chattering. It was embarrassing how much I cried."

After all the stories and confessions Wendy heard spilled in this room, she thought nothing could surprise her anymore. She was only twenty-nine herself, not old by any means, but this girl just seemed so young. Maxine had never gone to her high school graduation ceremony or celebrated her first night of legal drinking with the girls. She'd been in prison for it all.

"So how what keeps you staying clean? You're out of prison now, heroin would be much easier to get, not to mention cheaper." asked Jason.

"Thanks for reminding me... I guess remembering what dope-sick feels like makes me never want to go through the process of sobering up again. It doesn't make it easy though. Five years later, and I can still remember exactly what it felt like when that calming rush hit my blood. Everything just felt... good. But if I stay busy, I don't focus on it as much." Maxine looked around the room, and looked down at her hands, almost as if she were surprised she'd said so much.

"Somedays, I can even forget that I was ever that person."

Maxine's final confession made Wendy realize how much she looked forward to that day. Maybe she would be holding her son, maybe she'd even be Jax's wife again. She grabbed Maxine as they headed out the door, the meeting now over. Offering a card with her number, she asked Maxine if she'd like to talk sometime. The young woman smiled and accepted Wendy's offer, even writing down her own and passing it back.

Wendy hadn't felt so light and free since the day that she'd first held Abel in her arms.

* * *

Maxine hustled across the parking lot to a black rental car. She shivered, even though it wasn't cold. It was never her plan to confess so much and be so vulnerable... _Stupid Jason and his stupid beard._ Turning the key in the ignition, she steered the sedan towards the highway and took the exit for Oakland.

Her car rolled to a stop in front of a dilapidated Craftsman. It was a shame, these historical homes were really beautiful, at least, when someone took care of them. Knocking on the door, she greeted the little boy who opened it with a friendly smile. Crouching down, she passed him something.

"Here you go, little guy. This is from your mom. She misses you and loves you lots, okay?"

* * *

Between the time that Maxine left the garage after lunch and now, Juice hadn't really had time to understand the weight of her story. Some bitch in a red two-door had yelled at him, even though Juice had only been trying to explain that she needed to top up the oil in her car and she could do it easily. Jax had been weird about his kid again, and he up and left in the middle of his shift. Half-Sack had freaked out at everyone because he pulled out another two pairs of underwear from the toilet after lunch, but in his frustration, hadn't noticed the knowing smirk that Juice and Tig shared.

"Check this out, brother. I got something special for the little plumber boy to find." Tig grinned and held up a massive pair of white women's underwear. Juice doubled over in laughter at the sight.

"Where'd you find the whale to get those off of?" he wheezed through chuckles.

"Her name was Shamu, and she's a beautiful lady. C'mon." Tig and Juice sprinted towards the back bathroom, cackling as they shoved the underwear down the toilet bowl with the butt-end of the toilet plunger. Tig gave the panties a little wave as he flushed.

"What are you two idiots doing?" asked a voice from the doorway.

"I was just showing Juice what eating four tacos looks like, Clay."

"Very impressive," added Juice, with a serious nod of the head.

"I don't what kind of sick shit your mommas did to you, but we've got a meeting. There's some business that needs to be taken care of with our boy Darby."

Inside the chapel, Clay outlined his plan. He'd received intel that meth was back in Charming, and someone was pushing it to men at the local lumber mill on the outskirts of town. Apparently Darby hadn't learned his lesson, and the Nordics were back to cooking trailer park crystal. Pointing at Juice, Chibs, Bobby, and Tig, he told them to go to the mill to confirm and press the dealer for Darby's new cook spots.

...

The mill was bustling, but within a few minutes of scouting around, it was obvious who the meth dealer was. The fidgety-looking man was standing around with two other guards, both with concealed weapons.

"Throw on a cap and cover up those tats, Juice. You're gonna go over there and pull him away from the Nazi shitbags," explained Bobby.

"Man, I always get stuck with the bait jobs." Juice stated it as a fact, rather than a complaint.

"It's because you're so pretty." Chibs' scars stretched with his grin.

Clad in flannel and a black baseball hat, Juice walked over to the three men. He scratched at his arms, darted his eyes around, and did his best to look like a paranoid tweaker. After explaining hurriedly that he didn't want his foreman to catch him using again, the dealer agreed to follow him alone to a secluded corner.

"Hey white boy, what happened to keeping drugs out of Charming, huh?" Tig threw a punch at the dealer, breaking his nose. The man sputtered and tried to cry out, but Chibs muffled his yell.

"Oh no, I don't suggest you try and warn your little Nazi friends. Just tell us where Darby is cooking the meth," warned Tig.

"It's... it's not D-Darby," wheezed the man.

"What do you mean it's not Darby?" Juice asked.

"It's this-this kid, okay? He goes to the local high school, steals all the supplies there. I-I take care of ge-getting the Sudafed."

"You're telling me some teenager is running a cook out of Charming High? Then who's the muscle over there?" Bobby looked incredulous.

"Just some g-guys I hired. F-for protection." The dealer finished his stuttering and looked at them, petrified. Blood still flowed freely from his smashed nose and tears streamed down his cheek.

"I can see that's going well for you," scoffed Tig. "Now where do we find the little shit?"

"His name is Antonio, I always meet him on Wednesdays near the school gym, he gives me the product and I give him the Sudafed to make more," he explained. "Wh... W-what are you guys gonna do to me?"

"Oh, aye suggest you fly away little birdy. I'd be getting out of Charming as fast as possible," threatened Chibs. He gave his knife a flick open and shut, and traced a finger along one of his scarred cheeks.

"Come on, boys, the hired help are going to get suspicious if our friend here stays away too long." Chibs, Juice, and Tig followed Bobby back to their bikes and rode towards the clubhouse.

...

"The kid is seventeen and lives with his grandma," sighed Juice. He gave his Mohawk a scratch and looked dejectedly back at his computer screen.

"To grandmother's house we go then," said Tig, his voice a sarcastic sing-song.

"We can't hurt a kid! He's got no parents, nothing going for him!" Juice was furious.

"He needs to come in for a little talk. Just so we can all be on the same page, here." Clay's words were final.

Chibs patted him on the shoulder after everyone walked off, but offered no comforting words.

"This is so fucking wrong." Juice gave his head another shake.

* * *

"D'you think I could pass for a teenager?"

"Eh?" Maxine gave him a confused look. She sat cross-legged on his bed and pointed at him as she spoke. "You have ink, a mohawk, big gold rings, and a massive hunting knife permanently strapped to your hip. Even I know teenagers don't look like that."

"Okay, okay. Aside from all that stuff though."

"... I guess so? You have that big baby face. I mean, you're kind of bulky, but if you put on baggy clothes you could just pretend you're fat." Maxine grinned.

"Thanks," said Juice sourly.

"Why?"

"It's complicated. I need to ask this teenage kid some questions, but I don't want to scare him off. I figure if I meet him alone and look like I'm in high school, he won't panic."

Maxine pondered Juice's outfit. She gently tugged the rings off his fingers and slid his cut off his shoulders. Her touch felt so delicate against his skin, and she was standing so close that he could smell her clean scent. His body gave an involuntary shiver. Maxine didn't notice, as she'd begun shuffling in his closet and passing various items of clothing to him.

Ten minutes later he stood in front of her, wearing all of his baggiest clothing and an old NY Knicks hat that he'd brought from Queens. He borrowed a pair of Jax's white Nikes to complete his younger appearance.

"Well, you look different, at least. It's kinda cute in a teenage thug way." Maxine gave his cheek an affectionate little pinch.

"I have no idea why I ever thought saggy jeans with boxers sticking out was a good look," laughed Juice. "Thanks for the help, Max."

* * *

Juice nervously paced outside the Charming High gym. The lunch bell had just sounded, and students were pouring out of the school doors, innocently clutching their lunch boxes and brown paper bags. He felt guilty, but reminded himself that this Antonio was cooking and dealing meth. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a figure standing in the shadows near the gym door. The kid was a lot scrawnier than expected. Tall and skinny, Antonio wore a large gold chain and baggy black pants.

"Hey, are you Antonio?" asked Juice, speaking quietly as he walked over.

"People call me Ant around here." Antonio puffed his chest out proudly. "Who's askin'?"

"I'm JC. I hear you're the man to talk to about having some fun." Juice fed his ego, hoping to bait Antonio into confessing.

"Yeah, I make the best shit. How much you want?"

"Is there someplace more private we can talk? Maybe by the parking lot?" Juice was amazed at his good luck. Antonio followed him without second thought, only becoming suspicious when Juice stopped next to an unmarked black van. By then, it was too late.

"What the fu –"

Half-Sack and Tig hopped out of the van before Antonio could finish his thought, throwing him inside and covering his mouth. Juice sighed heavily, and pulled off the Knicks cap. No matter what clothes he wore, he was still a Son underneath it all.

...

Back at the clubhouse, Antonio was strapped to a chair and gagged.

"He looks like a miniature version of the 'Rican," commented Piney. Antonio's eyes bulged in response. He spotted Juice and shot him a hate-filled, scared look.

"So I hear you're running a little meth ring here in Charming," spat Jax. Juice flinched at his tone – he probably blamed this kid for being the source of the crank Wendy had been shooting up. In honesty though, if it hadn't been Antonio, it would have been Darby or someone else. Wendy didn't care if she was pregnant or not. All she ever cared about was getting her damn fix.

"In case you weren't aware, dealing doesn't happen in Charming. SAMCRO makes sure of it," added Bobby.

Tears began streaming down Antonio's face. Juice couldn't watch; the kid reminded him too much of himself. No parents, young, stupid, and making bad decisions to just try and get ahead.

Tig pulled the bandanna off of Antonio's mouth and let him speak.

"My grandma's really sick okay?" he sobbed. "I just needed some way to make some quick money. I looked it up online – crystal was really easy to make. I swear, I swear... I didn't want to hurt anybody."

"What're we gonna do with 'im, Jackie?" asked Chibs.

"Please don't kill me!" his voice broke as he cried out. Antonio's face was a puffy mess of tears and snot.

Jax stared at the boy, and pulled out his knife.

* * *

_Writer's Note:_ There's a lot going on in this chapter, I hope it wasn't too confusing. The lumber mill scene was an adapted version of the events from season 2, episode three. I think I prefer writing adjusted versions of established events rather than coming up with entirely new ones or trying to write things exactly as they happened, but I'd appreciate any feedback on this.

This chapter was a really different direction for me. I'm not the best at action. Please review if you can! Merci.

P.S. Can you tell that I'm also a big Breaking Bad fan?


	6. Opie

Antonio stared wide eyed at the blade as Jax cut off the zip ties that held his wrists to the chair.

"Get the fuck out of here." Jax didn't look at him as he spoke, and Antonio stumbled to the floor. Rubbing his wrists and wiping his tear-streaked face, he sprinted for the door. Bobby placed a comforting hand on Jax's shoulder.

"You did right, brother. We had to let him go. He's not going to make the same mistake twice," reasoned the Secretary.

Juice felt drained. Something about seeing Ant... It hurt. There were things haunting his head that he hadn't thought about in years, memories that he had filed away when he left Queens. His hands shook as he lit a joint and lay back in his bed.

* * *

Opie was due for release from Stockton in two days and SAMCRO was already preparing for the homecoming. Although Donna had shunned the club and Jax's help for the past five years, Opie was a brother, and he deserved some fun for all his loyalty. An air of tense excitement held over the clubhouse. Prison changed men and no one knew who would greet them on the other side of the pen.

Gemma had set the Prospect to take care of most of the preparations and Maxine was dragged in simply because Half-Sack begged for her help. She didn't mind, though. It was nice running around town with her friend, checking off items on a list written in Gemma's flowing hand. They didn't hang out much outside of boxing practice but Maxine appreciated their growing friendship. It was hard, but she was trying to get better at trusting people. She'd even worked up the courage to call Wendy and ask her to have lunch next week – Juice would have to give her up for a day. Maxine smiled at the thought of Juice. If she'd ever had a best friend, he was it. She saw him nearly every day at TM and loved their lunchtime talks, and though she hadn't yet told him the full truth about being locked up in Stockton she knew she'd get there.

Sack parked the van and turned to Maxine.

"So, I think I found the one."

"Who?" Maxine stared wide-eyed at Half-Sack. This was unexpected.

"I met her on the run to Indian Hills, her name's Cherry. I mean it, Maxie. I can't get this girl out of my head."

"Is she... coming to Charming?"

"I don't know. I only met her the one time, and I know she's a sweetbutt, but I'm serious about this. I think I'm in love with her." Half-Sack did look serious – perhaps the most serious Maxine had ever seen him. "What am I supposed to do here?"

"I guess you're going to Indian Hills to get your girl," replied Maxine, smiling.

"We've got another run in a couple weeks. I'm bringing her back to Charming," his voice was firm and his eyes were bright with dreams of a petite brunette miles away.

"Sounds like a plan, lover. Now let's get to the liquor store, we've got booze to buy."

* * *

"It's good to have you back, brother." Clay spoke for the whole club as he wrapped Opie's tall frame in a friendly embrace. Other patches yelled their agreement and tackled Opie in tight hugs. His beard was bushier and his frame more muscled, but so far nothing seemed to have changed about the tall Son.

Maxine examined the returner. She'd felt a little awkward at first – festivities weren't starting for another hour at the earliest, and right now seemed like a reunion for the guys and a few assorted old ladies. But both Juice and Sack reassured her that she was welcome, and Gemma had even managed a thanks for helping out the prospect. Still, she stood off to the side, in silent observation. As she looked at Opie, she wondered how he was adjusting so well. Her own release from female lockup in Stockton had left her a nervous wreck, uncomfortable and untrusting around people. _I guess it's different when you have a family to come home to._

Sack left her behind the bar to tend while he went to the washroom. Sweetbutts, croweaters, and hangarounds arrived, making a beeline for drinks. Maxine was suddenly serving up an endless order of gin and tonics, rye and Cokes, and tequila shots. A massive hand reached across the bar to grab a beer from behind the counter.

"I'm Opie."

"Hi, I'm Maxine."

"You new around here?" he asked, pitching the beer cap into a bucket with a flick. Maxine nodded.

"I've been in Charming for two months."

"Do you like it?"

"It's definitely different, but I do like it." While Maxine spoke, Half-Sack returned from the bathroom. He shuffled her out from behind the bar, resuming his duties. She found herself standing close to Opie on the other side. He towered over her, though his face was not unkind.

"Can I grab you a drink?" he offered.

"No, it's fine, thanks. I'm sober." Her hand flew to her mouth. _Did I really just say that? _Aside from her Tuesday meetings, no one else knew.

"Good for you."

"Want to smoke?" Maxine wasn't sure why she was prolonging this interaction. Opie was the man of the hour, and she didn't even know him.

They puffed away in silence.

"Thanks," he said. "I needed to get out of there for a minute."

"I know what you mean," replied Maxine softly. He glanced at her, his dark eyes unreadable. "I got out of Stockton several weeks back. I did five years, too. It's surreal getting out after that." If Opie was surprised, he didn't show it.

"It's overwhelming, that's what it is." Opie stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette. Maxine watched him as he walked towards his bike. "You know, I'm just gonna head out, go see Donna and the kids," he concluded. The revving engine caused a few questioning glances.

"See you around." His parting words left Maxine feeling strange. She'd told a complete outsider more in five minutes than she could admit to Half-Sack, even Juice. _Guess I will be seeing you around then_, she thought.

"Max! I wondered where the hell you got off to." Juice wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his head on her shoulder. He reeked like spilt beer. His eyes looked curiously at the motorcycle tearing out of the lot. "Was that Ope?" he asked.

"Yeah. I think this was too much for him. It's too soon."

"Did you guys do some jailbird bonding?" Juice grinned.

"Oh, shut up." Maxine shook her head, laughing, and shoved off his drunk embrace.

"C'mon, let me buy you some drinks. You need to loosen up and have some fun!"

Somehow between her protests and Juice dragging her to the bar, Maxine found Half-Sack shoving shots at her and Juice putting them in her hands. Soon enough, she didn't need their encouragement. _So much for being sober. _The clubhouse kept rocking side to side, just like a carnival ride, and Maxine thought it was a strange thing for a building to do. She giggled as Juice picked her up and carried her over his shoulder like it was the most normal thing in the world.

They challenged a hangaround named Steve to a game of darts. Steve left in a huff after Maxine kept walking up to the board and shoving her darts in the bulls-eye every time she missed it. It didn't matter, Juice thought it was hilarious. The pair collapsed on a couch.

* * *

Maxine didn't know how much time had passed. It couldn't have been long; since she was fairly sure she was still very drunk. The party goers were passed out around the clubhouse in various states, and no one seemed to be stirring. Juice snored next to her.

"Juuuuice. Juice!" she hissed. He woke with a snort and stared at her with bleary eyes.

"S'what?"

"I need to go to the bathroom."

"You woke me up to tell me that?"

"I'm gonna fall over if I try to stand up."

"Then crawl," he said, closing his eyes and smirking.

"He-e-elp me. Please." Maxine pounded her fists lightly against his chest. Juice's eyes suddenly whipped open and he snatched her up. She yelped slightly as he stood and dragged her down the hallway. He shoved her limp form into the bathroom and closed the door.

When Maxine emerged, Juice was leaning against the wall outside the door.

"My hero," she said. She let her body collapse against him, a feeble attempt at an appreciative hug.

"You look terrible," he laughed. Maxine smiled weakly, unoffended. She'd caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror, and though her vision had been swimming, she could see she had dark circles and hair sticking out in all directions.

Juice's hand stroked her face. Maxine hummed. It felt nice.

"But you're still beautiful," he whispered. A breath caught in her throat as lips found their way to hers. Juice kissed her softly. Her mouth felt like an Arizona desert, but she pushed her lips back against his and felt surprised at how much she wanted this. Their bodies slid together down the wall, coming together in a crumpled heap on the floor, lips still gently pressed together. Time slowed. Dissolved. Maxine fell into whiskey dreams with her head nuzzled in the crook of his neck and the feel of his lips still alive on her skin.

* * *

_Writer's Note: _Apologies for the short chapter, but I would like to keep up the one update daily. ~1,500 words is easy enough to get out.

Anyway, I feel like it might be too soon, but Maxine and Juice have made those tentative first steps to somewhere beyond friendship. I'd love to write them together, but it's not that easy. This chapter also marks (pretty much) the first time events are seen from Maxine's point of view - what do you think? I can't tell if I find her interesting or just a plot device sometimes. Opie wasn't originally planned to play much of a role, but I somehow forgot the parallel between his release and Maxine's when I was planning this out before writing. He could potentially be an interesting side-character to explore more of the effects of prison.

As always, I'd appreciate your thoughts. Thanks are in order to **Annaface, Love Ink, lederra, Savannah's Angels, Death-Muncher,** and **Cupcake81 **for their reviews! It means a lot, and repeat reviewers are especially helpful. Please message or post a review if you have any requests or ideas for the story as well. (For example, what does Maxine mean by "odd jobs" when she speaks to Half-Sack in chapter 3? What did she give to the boy in Oakland and why? I'm asking, honestly. I haven't even figured it out myself.)


	7. Junkie

These sheets didn't smell like home. Maxine splayed her fingers against the soft cotton, her head equally fuzzy on details. She propped herself up on her elbows, swearing softly at the thudding headache, and tried to figure out where she was.

"Hey, you're up." Maxine could hear the smile before she saw it. Juice had been hunched over his laptop and perched at the end of the bed, but her stirring prompted him to close it shut and sprawl out beside her. "Sleep okay?" he asked gently. His index finger skimmed down the bridge of her nose.

_This is weird, _thought Maxine. She was in Juice's bed. With Juice.

"How'd I get here?" she asked with a yawn.

"We kinda passed out in the hallway. My back was killing me so I just carried you in here – figured you'd be more comfortable in a bed."

"Oh. Thank you." She glanced at her watch. "Um, I should go... I've got a lunch date soon."

Maxine left the clubhouse thoroughly confused. Chibs shot her a knowing wink as he saw her leave.

* * *

"Benzo Fury?" Tig peered at the label. "What does it do?"

"It's a stimulant. Looks interesting, it's legal in the UK and a bunch of European countries." Juice pulled out his bowie knife and sliced open the shipping box. "I didn't think this was ever going to arrive." A devilish grin crossed his face as he ripped open a small orange packet and held the white pill in his palm.

"Is this more of your weird online drug experimenting?" asked Bobby, giving the tablet a suspicious look.

"I'm a curious guy." Juice threw the pill into his mouth and swallowed dry. Tig tore open another packet with his teeth and followed Juice's lead.

...

Juice didn't know whether it was the remaining effects of the drug or his own guilt that overwhelmed him. He walked through the endless stretches of low-income housing, identical rows of tiny houses and duplexes, yards long forgotten to weeds and garbage. _Number 803, unit B_. It felt like someone else was puppeteering his body, coaxing his hand to curl into a fist and knock against the door.

"Hello?" The voice was frail and elderly. "Who's there?" she called out.

"I'm a frie– I know Antonio." Juice could hear shuffling behind the door. A soft cry of 'Tony!' called out in a far room.

The door swung open. Ant stared, frozen, at Juice.

"Wh-what are you doing here man? I'm totally out. I won't c-cause any more trouble," his voice quavered.

"I, uh... shit." Juice scratched at his mohawk. "Guess I came to see if you were telling the truth. About your grandma."

Ant's eyes narrowed. He stepped outside, closing the door behind him, and crossing his arms.

"You saw, and now you can go." This was not the sniveling, pitiful Antonio that Juice had seen at the clubhouse, or even the swaggering, meth-dealing Antonio of Charming High. Antonio spoke now with a fierce conviction. Juice couldn't help but admire his protective love for the aged woman that he hid behind the front door.

"It doesn't change the fact that you need money to support her," said Juice firmly.

"I'm no charity case. I'll figure something out." A flicker of uncertainty crossed Antonio's face.

"Look, I get it, okay? You're obviously smart. You set up your own freaking meth cook with supplies you stole from the chemistry lab." Juice spoke honestly. "If you come by the garage, I'll teach you some things. You can earn legit."

"Why are you being nice to me?" asked Antonio.

"I used to be a lot like you," shrugged Juice. "Just think about it."

Juice turned and walked off in the direction he'd come. The invisible weight he'd been feeling lately seemed to lift a little. Or maybe it was just the drugs in his system.

* * *

Maxine greeted Wendy with a warm hug. The gesture seemed to surprise them both, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Wendy examined Maxine. _The bruises are fading... I wonder if she's still seeing him._ Wendy had seen enough girls smacked around to know what it looked like – Maxine didn't deserve whatever this guy was doing to her, not after all she'd been through. Her fists clenched unconsciously.

Maxine didn't seem to notice as she hopped in Wendy's car.

"Oh, crap... I must have left it in his room," muttered Maxine as she rifled through her purse. "Would you mind stopping off somewhere? I forgot my wallet." She looked apologetic.

"Yeah, no problem. Just tell me where to turn."

As Maxine directed her through lefts and rights from her apartment, Wendy felt a growing sense of dread. She was in familiar territory. The Sons of Anarchy clubhouse. Parking the car in the lot felt both familiar and alien – Wendy had changed so much since she'd last been here. It'd been almost a year.

"Come on, you can meet my friends," said Maxine cheerfully, tugging Wendy by the hand.

"Oh, no really, I think it's best if I just wait in the car..."

Wendy didn't get to finish her thought.

"What the fuck is the junkie bitch doing here?" Gemma's face contorted into a scowl. Her heels were an angry clip against the pavement as she strode to the car, standing far into Wendy's personal space.

"You should be rotting in a cell for shooting up with a goddamn baby inside. Fucking white trash whore."

"Woah, woah." Maxine stepped in between the two of them and blocked a stab in the shoulder from one of Gemma's perfectly filed nails. Wendy found this to be an especially stupid idea. "No need to talk like that. Wendy is in recovery."

"Is that what she told you? Way I see it, once a junkie, always a junkie," spat Gemma.

"Then you're wrong." Maxine's eyes were dark. Wendy couldn't believe she was staring down, let alone _calling out,_ the President's wife.

"You don't know anything about Wendy and what she did to this family."

"I don't have to know everything to know that she's a different person, and she's making changes," retorted Maxine.

"Yeah? What are you, one of her rehab friends?" Gemma's tone was flippant.

"So what if I am." Maxine's voice was quieter and she dropped her gaze. Gemma stared at the girl.

"You can pack your shit and then the two of you are leaving. These boys don't need another drug addict around to mess with their heads." Her voice was final.

A small crowd had formed in the process of their argument. Juice's face was curious and confused. Maxine stalked towards the clubhouse, intent on grabbing her wallet and getting out of there.

"Max!" He ran after her. "What the hell was that about?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Juice." Maxine swung the door open to his room and began scanning for her belongings.

"Hey, come on. You can tell me anything," he said gently. Juice grabbed her hand and watched her, his big brown eyes wide. _God, he has the kindest eyes_, thought Maxine.

"I really can't." Her voice broke, along with the composure she'd been trying to maintain. Thick tears smarted at the corners of her eyes and rolled down. "Wendy's waiting."

Juice let her go. Maxine sprinted to the car and hopped in. Her fingers became white as she held on tightly, Wendy pushing her car to a scream and driving them far away from everything.

* * *

There were too many questions left. Maxine had told a version of the truth, but not the whole truth. She might not want to share but he had to know, because today's little blow-up in the parking lot was evidence of how dangerous secrets could be. _She was friends with Wendy!_ His fingers flew across the laptop keyboard. He clicked and probed and searched. _Gotcha_.

The face that stared at him from the juvenile detention record had Maxine's nose and those green eyes he liked so much, but it wasn't the person he knew. The girl's hair was stringy, dark brown strands, and her skin was lifeless, dull. Most notably, her eyes looked glazed and deadened, hidden under thickly applied black eyeshadow. It was hard to believe that this was the face of his friend nearly 6 years ago on her intake day. Other photographs in the file documented her tattoos. And her arms... which were covered in bruised track marks. There were even faint track marks on her feet and legs, evidence of being unable to find a vein and having to go chasing elsewhere.

Juice was no stranger to drugs. Aside from his regular dosing of Ritalin to manage the ADHD, he was the club's supplier of good weed (through his contact named The Chicken Man), and he loved anything in pill form, particularly uppers and hallucinogens. But aside from a bump of coke a few times, he'd never done much in what he considered "hard drugs." No meth, no heroin, no mixed up speedballs. Despite the club's joking, he was smart enough to recognize he had an addictive personality. Experimenting beyond a trippy night in a field or club could put him exactly where Maxine was once.

Her file went on to tell snippets of her five month stay in the Canadian juvenile detention facility. Notes were made of her difficulty in detoxing and of the bullied relationship she had with other girls. The final image included in the file was of Maxine's wrists, taken only two weeks before her transfer to women's corrections in Stockton. She'd dragged something sharp there, looking for escape, and hadn't been successful. A guard found her pooling in her own blood just in time.

Juice closed the digital file, leaving no trace of his intrusive presence in the system. He couldn't image what it felt like to be so devoid of hope and happiness that you'd consider killing yourself, couldn't imagine what it must feel like then when you realize you failed. _Couldn't even get suicide right._

He'd kissed her last night, certain that he felt something. And having Maxine wake up in the morning next to him felt so goddamn natural – he couldn't deny he loved having her as a friend, and that seeing her half-naked stirred something below his belt, but his club came first. This girl obviously had some big demons and she wasn't ready to be honest about them yet. Juice couldn't let this blow back on the Sons.

* * *

_Writer's Note:_ This is kind of a filler/set-up chapter. Since I missed my update last night, I'm hoping to post twice today. Shit's goin' down next chapter! Sexy stuff. Should be a long one.

In some promo stuff, particularly season four, Juice was described as the club's expert on all things computer and chemical. I ran with the "chemical" idea - I could really picture this guy loving getting any kind of high. He's always happy anyway.

Review if you can. Merci!

And please note that Benzo Fury, aka 6-APB, is a dangerous substance that isn't fully tested. I included it because I happen to like the name and the drug is going through a bit of an "in Vogue." Additionally, one of the effects described by users is the "ability to discuss topics with others that would not normally be discussed." It was convenient and I imagined the drug only intensified Juice's feelings of guilt, propelling him to reach out to Antonio.


	8. Laid

After Gemma's parting words, Maxine hadn't been back to the clubhouse or TM, not even to box with Half-Sack or have lunch with Juice. She couldn't have known that the baby Wendy referred to was Jax's son, but she still felt guilty for not making the connection about Abel and putting everyone in that situation.

And with no texts or calls from either Juice or Half-Sack in the past two weeks, it was evident they shared Gemma's 'wisdom.' _Way I see it, once a junkie, always a junkie. _Things sucked. She missed the guys, but not enough to beg for them to spend time with her when they didn't want to.

It was morning and Maxine was in the middle of cleaning her apartment when her phone rang. _Half-Sack!_ She couldn't answer it fast enough.

"Hey!" She cursed herself silently for sounding so enthusiastic.

"Hey Maxine. Are you busy? I was, uh, wondering if you wanted to come practice with me."

"I'm not doing anything important. I'll be there in 15, okay?"

...

The clubhouse was a welcome sight and Half-Sack's messy mop of strawberry blonde hair was even more so. She couldn't help but hug him and was happy to find his arms squeezing her back. After she stepped away, she noticed that things were... quiet. And empty.

"Where is everyone?" she asked.

"San Joaquin County Correctional." Half-Sack watched her reaction. Maxine's eyes widened.

"Since when?"

"Night before last. They were given some wrong intel and showed up, guns blazing, to a freaking Christian family dinner."

"Oh fuck." Maxine compulsively tugged at her hair. "What's bail set at?"

"Three mil, but bonding them out will be three hundred grand. Opie and Gemma are working on it, they should be out today."

"That's a relief."

Maxine worked out her worries with fists. Half-Sack urged her on. They were both panting heavily when Gemma's voice called out. _Dammit, _thought Maxine, _she's probably coming to tell me to stay the fuck away again. _Sack, the traitor, saw Gemma and sprinted into the clubhouse, muttering something about cat fights.

"Maxine," called out Gemma, gesturing for the younger woman to come to her. Dropping her boxing gloves, Maxine hopped out of the ring and walked over. She felt tense.

"We need to talk." Gemma's face was hard, lips set in a thin line as she spoke.

"Look, I know what you're going to say –"

"No. It's not that. It's the boys... Juice got shanked yesterday in San Joa lockup."

Someone might as well have punched Maxine in the gut. Her head spun_. Oh god, Juice..._

"How bad is it?" Her voice was quiet.

"They missed the vital organs, but he's been transferred to St. Thomas. Aside from some internal bleeding, he's gonna be okay, darlin.'" Gemma's voice had never spoken so kindly to her. Maxine crouched down, resting elbows on knees to hold her head with. Juice was okay. She just needed to calm down, needed to slow her ragged breaths. Gemma extended a hand and softly stroked Maxine's hair.

"He's gonna be okay," she repeated.

* * *

St. Thomas was quiet in the early morning. The small hospital was an eerie calm compared to the chaos inside of Maxine's head. She clenched Juice's portable game player in her hand, knowing it would be a far more welcome gift than a bouquet of get-well-soon-flowers.

"I'm here to see Juice Ort– er, Juan-Carlos Ortiz, please." The receptionist hummed over her request, and after a few clicks on the computer, directed her to a room on the second floor.

Maxine gave the door a tentative knock before opening. Juice was laying stomach down on a bed, head resting on his knuckles as he watched something on TV. Maxine had never seen him look so bad. His skin was ashen; the normally manicured facial and head hair was stubbly, and the loosely tied hospital gown exposed white gauze wrapped around his midsection. He perked up at the sound of a visitor.

"Max?" He sounded surprised.

"Hey buddy. I brought your game. Thought you might get bored." Maxine held out the little black device.

"Wow, thanks. How'd you know I was here?"

"Gemma. How else?" They both chuckled before falling silent again. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got shanked. How else?" The smile on his face didn't reach his eyes. "Wanna watch TV with me?" Maxine nodded. She pulled up a chair next to Juice and leaned on the hospital bed.

They watched TV together for an hour before a nurse came in. Juice told her to head out, joking that she wouldn't want to watch him shit blood.

* * *

Maxine went back to the hospital the next day, and the day after that. She'd missed him so much, and they'd gone back immediately to their usual selves. No mention was made of the past two weeks of silence. Now, instead of spending lunch working on her bike with her friend at TM, she spent it watching mindless TV shows and talking about random things in the sterile room with him. Juice began to look better, and his serious mood of before was replaced by barely contained impatience.

"I'm so fucking bored," he complained. Maxine only rolled her eyes at him.

"Hey, uh, I know this is going to sound weird, but I need a favour."

"Depends," said Maxine, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"My hair is driving me crazy. And they won't give me a goddamn razor."

Maxine raised an eyebrow, hiding her amusement. Juice was obsessive about personal care.

"Maxie! Come on," he exclaimed. "Please. I can't handle it."

"Fine. I'll bring your electric razor tomorrow."

"How about today?" Juice asked hopefully. "And bring my aloe vera aftershave, hair paste, safety razor, tweezers, wet shave kit, moisturizer..."

"I have no idea how you ever manage to get out of the bathroom in the morning."

...

After scrabbling through the cupboard in Juice's clubhouse room, Maxine returned to the hospital with an armful of his supplies. She dumped it unceremoniously on a table in his hospital room. Juice looked positively gleeful as he eyed everything from the bed, hands scratching impatiently at all the hair that had grown in. Groaning, he propped himself up into a sitting position, swinging his feet from the side of the bed.

"Okay, so you'll need to get out the electric razor to give everything a once over, then lather with the wet shave soap to use the safety razor. After that's done, I usually steam my face –"

"Me?" Maxine interrupted Juice's detailed instructions.

"I don't have a mirror," he said petulantly. "And everything hurts." He made a pained face and dramatically grabbed at his side as if to prove his point.

"I have no idea why I'm so nice to you," Maxine grumbled. "I can guarantee no one else would do this. Can you picture Bobby giving you a shave?"

"Bobby doesn't understand the importance of grooming," sniffed Juice.

The razor buzzed as Maxine circled it along the planes of Juice's face – she smirked at his patchy facial hair – and ran it over the stubble that had grown in around his mohawk. His eyes closed and his face looked almost blissful as small bits of coarse black hair fell like snow onto his shoulders. She brushed off the hairs before moving to lather his face and head, and he shivered contentedly at her touch.

"You look like a really bad Santa," said Maxine, trying to contain her giggling. "Or a skunk." White, soapy lather was thickly piled on his face and the sides of his head, a black strip of hair showing down the middle.

"Shush. Now be careful, shave it in sections. And watch out for my mohawk!" cautioned Juice.

The safety razor left his skin silky after every swipe and Maxine was careful not to nick his skin. Her face knitted in concentration, and she stood so close to Juice that she could smell the light musk of the shave cream and feel his soft breathing against her face. Wiping off the last of the cream, she gazed proudly at her work. Juice wasn't done though.

"Time to steam with a washcloth! Then aftershave. Moisturizing is important too. It helps keep my tattoos."

Maxine grumbled some more but followed his demands, finishing by rubbing the moisturizer along the lightning bolts. She was startled when Juice let out a moan.

"That feels really fucking good," he mumbled.

His head fell forward, face nuzzling against the front of her shirt. Maxine didn't know what else to do so she continued to massage his head. Juice's skin was the most attractive shade of caramel, and she liked the smooth feel of it as her fingers kneaded. The tattoos that she'd secretly mocked long ago now seemed as indelible a part of him as the physical ink itself. The more Maxine stroked his head, the more often Juice mumbled happily and let out the occasional low sigh. Suddenly, his hands grabbed her hips, and pulled her in between his legs. Fingers worried at the edge of her shirt, lifting it slightly. Maxine realized that Juice was half-hard. She was pressed tightly to his crotch and it was becoming obvious through the thin fabric of his hospital gown and her close-fitting jeans.

She inhaled sharply and rocked forward when she felt a hand brush the front of her jeans, traveling between her thighs. Juice felt more than half-hard now. Maxine's head lolled back and her eyes closed as lips kissed at her neck and warm fingers rubbed her at her jeans. The friction was incredible. As the fingers became more insistent, Maxine let out a moan. Juice chuckled. The sound of his voice rocked her back to reality – this was Juice. This was her friend. This was so, so wrong. Although her body protested her brain, she pushed away from him and opened her eyes.

Juice looked surprised. And vulnerable. He stared at her with massive brown eyes and a tent pitched in his hospital gown.

"I-I should go," she stammered.

...

Later that night, Maxine found her hand slipping under her pyjama shorts. Ignoring her guilt, she imagined Juice's fingers were her own. And as she came, body shuddering, she could've sworn he was actually there.

* * *

Maxine couldn't bring herself to go to the hospital the next day. She felt like an idiot. Then the next day, she told herself she had far too many chores and errands to run. The day after that she took a ride to Oakland for no reason, ate lunch at a cafe, and was in bed by seven pm. On the third day, she stopped by TM to visit Sack, but was intercepted by Gemma.

"Where have you been?" demanded Gemma.

"I've been... busy. With stuff." Maxine tried to sound confident, and cursed herself for speaking with the surety of an awkward teenager.

"Juice said he hasn't seen you lately. You should visit him." Gemma turned on her heel, giving Maxine one last stare. "Today."

"I thought I wasn't supposed to–" Gemma cut Maxine off before she could finish. It was quickly becoming an extremely annoying habit.

"I don't care about your junkie crap right now. You can visit that tatted idiot because he's lonely and he's asking for you."

...

The door to Juice's hospital room was exactly the same as before. Maxine didn't know why she'd suddenly expected it to look different. Pushing the door open, she saw Juice arguing with a nurse, who was waving a chart at him. The nurse huffed and brushed past Maxine.

"What was that about?"

"Hospital says I have to stay at least another week. I'm fine!" Juice looked genuinely angry.

"Oh. That sucks. Want me to bring you anything?" asked Maxine, careful with her words.

"Nah. I've got my laptop, games, other bullshit," he gestured at the collection beside his bed.

The pair was quiet for a moment; with the distraction of the nurse gone, they were left with the elephant in the room.

"Look, about the other day, I've been thinking... This hospital has me all weird and bored, I wasn't myself. I'm sorry." His voice belied deep embarrassment.

"It's alright. I'm sorry too." Maxine felt equally embarrassed. "We're okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course. Thanks for the shave by the way," he smiled. "I can do it all myself now. Fuck, I need to get out of here. And get laid." He was laughing now.

"You should keep the flowery hospital gown, I'm sure it'll make the crow eaters want you even more," joked Maxine.

"Worked on you, didn't it?" Juice raised an eyebrow, grinning.

"Don't be gross, Ortiz." She punched his shoulder lightly.

"The ladies don't call me 'Beast from the East' for nothin.'" He smirked.

"Nobody calls you that. Get real."

* * *

SAMCRO never really needed a reason to party, but if they had, Juice's homecoming a week and a half later was it.

"Juicey-boy!" bellowed Chibs.

"What's up Chibbie!"

Maxine watched in amusement as Juice threw himself at his brothers' open arms. He was such a sucker for attention. And he made no protest as shots were shoved in his direction, two croweaters taking up residence on his lap.

"Thanks for taking care of our boy, kid."

Maxine turned in surprise to the gruff voice. Clay's massive hand landed on her shoulder, his blue eyes looking kindly. "Gem told me you visited almost every day."

"Oh, it's nothing. We hang out all the time anyway."

"Yeah? Anything going on there?" asked Clay.

"We're friends," Maxine replied quickly.

"Guess so." Clay looked pointedly at the croweater that stroked the crotch of Juice's pants, bringing a wolfish smile to the Puerto-Rican's face.

After her short interaction with Clay, Maxine realized everyone must think she was some hopeless girl pining after Juice. That wouldn't do. Slipping out the door, she made her way to the Hairy Dog on her bike, intent on finding someone to fuck her 'til she forgot what Juice even looked like.

The town bar was occupied by the usual Aryan crowd, who eyed her hungrily as she walked past, and a handful of other random characters. Sipping a beer, she assessed her options. Nothing looked good until a tall blonde opened the door.

Leaning back against the bar counter, she watched him close the distance between them, admired the faded jeans that skimmed his masculine figure. He was definitely older, at least 40 to Maxine's 23. _Whatever. _It just meant he'd have more experienced fingers.

"Meeting someone?" Maxine asked.

"Just stopping in for a drink before heading out." The blonde looked at her, blue eyes twinkling. They were the same shade as Tig's, but less crazed.

"Join me then?"

"I can never turn down a pretty face." His grin had the same wolfish quality as Juice's. Maxine bit her lip, watching him.

"Maxine," she said, extending her right hand.

"Kozik," he replied before bringing her hand to his mouth and kissing it softly, never breaking eye contact.

* * *

Kozik had Maxine pinned against the hotel wall. She moaned as his fingers dove inside her panties and his mouth kissed her hungrily. Shoving him towards the bed, she pulled his jeans down roughly and nuzzled the hardness contained by his boxers.

"Fuck. Stop teasing," he rumbled. Maxine licked her lips. His underwear disappeared and her mouth wrapped around him. She looked up as she slurped noisily, one hand pumping at the base and the other fondling him. "Goddamn, you suck dick like a pornstar," commented Kozik through his groans.

"Yeah? You like that?" Maxine pulled her head away and watched the older man.

"Don't stop," he growled. Reaching for a condom, Maxine rolled it down his length. She let out a throaty moan as she slid him inside, gyrating her hips. She felt wild, raw, primal. She wanted to control him. Maxine bounced on top of him, pinching and rolling her nipples to increase her excitement, but noticed Kozik was nearing the edge. Slowing her grinding, she leaned her face over his.

"Did I say you could come?"

"Wh-what?" he breathed, eyes glazed with lust.

"Did I fucking stutter? Did I say you can finish yet?" Her hand had moved from her chest and instead wrapped around his throat. It was enough to be painful, but not so much that it crushed his windpipe.

"You crazy bitch," Kozik choked out.

"If you don't like it, find someone else to fuck," Maxine's voice was a low threat. _What the hell am I doing? _

"'N-no." His face was a mixture of anticipation and desire, with a twinge of panic.

"Good." Maxine kissed his lips softly.

* * *

_Writer's Note:_ I hope this was a small pay-off after eight chapters. Please review! I don't get many, but it keeps me motivated to write when I know someone's reading out there.


	9. Clean

Juice felt like death warmed over, then hit with a baseball bat. Last night was ten kinds of crazy. Between a haze of weed and tequila, he'd gone to bed with two croweaters. They'd been plenty of fun – hungry mouths, sexy moans, and round breasts – but in his state, he couldn't help shake the feeling that they were wrong. Not what he wanted. Their hair was either too light or too dark a shade of brown, their eyes weren't that pretty green colour, their skin was too pale, their bodies were soft where they should be muscled from... _from what? From training with Half-Sack nearly every day for the past three months? _

As he massaged his aching head and stretched his body, he realized he was in a little deeper than he thought. So much for thinking he 'maybe' felt something. He definitely did now. That little slip at the hospital had nothing to do with being bored. He knew, because he'd had to jerk himself off the second she'd left, and he could only think of that needy little moan Maxine made when his hand stroked her through her jeans. He'd thought of that moan a few other times in the hospital too... The nurses learned to knock.

Juice stood and nearly fell back down again. _What am I gonna do? Get drunk with her again and hope we make out? Hope that we're both drunk enough so I can hear that goddamn moan again?_ His radio alarm went off. A rock song played and a straining male voice yelled about being hung up on a girl. _Shut up._

* * *

Maxine parked her bike at TM. A night of animalistic, strangely dominant sex hadn't sated her desires, but instead increased them. After multiple orgasms and finally letting Kozik finish (it was cruel to deny him forever) she'd left quietly and walked the eight or so kms back to her apartment from the hotel. She wasn't interested in cuddling and dealing with a guy she'd never see again in the morning, and the long walk had done her some good as well. The crisp, rising dawn air had offered her the silence to confront the thoughts in her head. Juice was her friend. She'd just been horny that day at the hospital and needed to get laid, same as Juice. _That was all._

"Where'd you get off to last night?" asked Sack.

"Around. Had a few drinks at the Dog." Maxine replied casually, a smile tugging at her mouth.

"Huh. Last night was nuts. Juice was blitzed. You should see the mess inside."

They walked to the clubhouse. As the door opened, revealing the chaos within, Maxine muttered an "Oh, shit," seeing a familiar head of blonde hair standing at the bar and chatting to Tig. Bobby, Opie, and Juice were nearby. Juice's head was slumped onto the counter as he sat on a barstool.

"... bitch was fucking insane, never been ridden like that... sucked dick..." Maxine caught the snippet of conversation before the group turned to see who'd just come in.

"Maxine?" Kozik's mouth dropped open. Tig glanced between the pair, and noting Maxine's expression, broke into a crazy laugh.

"This is too fucking good," Tig said. Everyone turned to him, even Juice raised his head from the counter. "Kozik didn't show last night because he was busy getting the ride of his life from the second coming of Muhammad Ali over here. And apparently someone 'sucked dick like a pornstar.'" When neither of them denied it, Tig lost it.

_Glad someone finds it funny. _Maxine was mortified. Kip gave her a grossed out look while everyone else cackled along with Tig, even Kozik. But it was Juice that she looked at. He looked... well, Maxine couldn't exactly decide what he was feeling_. Hungover, probably._ At the very least, he wasn't laughing. Shoving away from the bar, he muttered to no one in particular.

"I'm gonna puke." His hunched form disappeared down the hallway. Maxine swallowed a hard gulp.

"It is pretty disgusting," agreed Opie, laughing.

"You had to pick the one guy who's a bigger slut than Jax," said Bobby.

"Why didn't you say you're a Son?" she asked Kozik, exasperated. The Tacoma patch was glaringly obvious on his cut, which he hadn't been wearing at the bar.

"You were too busy choking me out, remember?" he replied with a massive grin.

"While she was choking on you," added Tig, making Kozik grin even wider.

"Whatever." Huffing, Maxine stalked out of the clubhouse.

"Aw, don't go! We were just getting to the good stuff," Tig called out after her. "I always knew you had to be a freak!"

"Dude, I've seen you fondle corpses," said Sack, suddenly deciding to defend his friend. He followed Maxine outside.

"I'm gonna head out." Maxine's voice was flat as she mounted her bike. The engine was still warm, she'd barely parked it.

"I'll text you later," said Half-Sack, watching her ride off.

* * *

_"Come 2 clubhouse. Everyone is gone. Need help, huge mess." _Maxine sighed as she read the text from Half-Sack that he'd promised earlier. "Huge mess" was really an understatement.

"I don't know how you guys haven't managed to burn this place to the ground yet." Maxine kicked away a pair of panties in disgust.

"We do our best," said Half-Sack. "So, you and Kozik, huh?"

"You wanna clean by yourself, asshole?"

"Okay, okay. I won't ask."

The next hour was spent silently moving furniture into place, wiping up vomit, bagging countless bottles, and cleaning up unspeakable stains.

"Damnit."

"What's wrong?" asked Maxine.

"Vacuum's full. I gotta run to the store to buy more bags. I'll be back soon." Half-Sack rushed out the door. Hearing his bike roar off, Maxine shrugged and decided to put on some music. Five years in prison hadn't really kept her up to date on popular culture, so she just plugged in a random pink iPod she found stuffed behind the bar. Pressing play was a technology she could manage. "Property of Becky" was engraved on the back, and it became soon apparent that Becky liked cheesy, upbeat pop music. It wasn't entirely surprising.

_I'm having nightmares from sleeping with the enemy,_

_How do we reverse the chemistry?_

Maxine actually knew this song, vaguely. She must've heard it somewhere before going to Stockton.

_I don't want us to be the end of me,_

_This love is taking all of my energy._

Wielding a mop, Maxine spun around, belting out the lyrics. She swayed with the wooden handle, singing into it like a microphone. She was in the middle of crooning "_Yo-ou're taking all of my ene-e-e-rgy_" to an invisible audience and dancing when a cough from the hallway interrupted her. Dropping her mop in surprise, Maxine turned to see Juice watching her.

"Nice moves," he commented.

"Done puking?" she asked, ignoring his jab.

"For now. If you want more to mop, I'm sure I can manage to make another mess."

Maxine snorted. A new song came on. Juice turned to her in annoyance.

"Kozik, really?"

"Why do you care?" Maxine was growing irritated.

"Because you're not some crow eater."

"So I'm supposed to stand around? I think it was pretty obvious from what happened in the hospital that we both needed to get laid, so I did," she spat out.

"So you go from me to Kozik?" he said, sounding offended.

"What? Like I'd have sex with you?" Maxine scoffed. She knew she was being mean.

"You sure didn't act like it." Juice imitated a high pitched, girly moan before stomping outside. Maxine's mouth dropped open in surprise. She couldn't believe he'd just done that.

Finally, she managed to mutter a "fuck you," but the room was empty. She didn't want Juice. She'd decided that this morning, hadn't she?

_You should let me love you,_

_Let be the one to give you everything you want and need,_

_Baby, good love and protection,_

_Show you the way love's supposed to be._

Maxine threw Becky's stupid pink iPod in a corner. She hoped it was broken and beyond repair.

...

Juice was outside, smoking. Maxine slid her sunglasses on her face to hide her angry eyes, and slung her bag over her shoulder. Everything she had in the clubhouse was packed inside; nothing was left that she could possibly need to come back for. She was going to leave without saying anything, but a thought suddenly crossed her mind. She turned around and stared at him.

"You're offended I had sex with Kozik over you? You fucked two croweaters. How the hell is that supposed to make me feel?" Maxine started her bike and drove off before he had the chance to reply. She didn't look back.

* * *

Maxine was working her way through a seventh cigarette. She sat, staring at the same view she'd been looking at for the past hour. It was just a slight incline, a residential neighbourhood in town that happened to sit above everything. No great view by any means, and nothing like home, but she figured she could get some perspective on everything by literally going to a vantage point.

It was frustrating. Her and Juice were bad at actually talking about stuff regardless how much they chatted. They both dealt with things the same way: ignore it and ignore each other. _Am I just going to spend another three days not talking to him again? Or two weeks?_

Nicotine really wasn't doing it for her. Times like these, when her hands shook and threaded through her poor hair, she had to work hard to fight off the impulse that threatened to overtake her. Some people thought being sober after having an addiction meant staying away from the one thing you'd been addicted to. Maxine just tried her best to stay away from everything, for the most part. Coffee, liquor, weed, shrooms, MDMA, it didn't matter. Get drunk or high and maybe you'd be fucked up just enough to do something stupid, and it wouldn't _seem _stupid.

She hadn't been drunk or high when she came apart at the touch of Juice's fingers, though. And that took the award for stupid. Maxine still beat herself up over that. It was wrecking the best friendship she'd ever had – all because she was impulsive and sex-starved. At least sex with Kozik last night had proved one thing: she needed to find another outlet. Preferably one not connected to the Sons. Maxine was quickly realizing it was the only way she was going to be able to preserve her friendship with Juice. Because they were _just _friends, after all.

_Fuck it. Time to grow up,_ she told herself. She rode her bike back to Teller-Morrow, knowing there was someone she owed an apology to.

* * *

Juice was high. Really, really high. Opening his bedroom door had unleashed a dank smoke that curled and licked into the fresh air, escaping from his dark, obsessively clean space.

"Juice?" Maxine asked tentatively.

"Yeah." A shadowy figure moved on the bed and flicked on the lamp nearby. Juice was laying on top of the sheets, a bong cradled to his side. He looked at her with sleepy, bloodshot eyes.

"Can we just forget about everything?" said Maxine, sitting on the edge of the bedframe. "I'm sorry, I said stuff I didn't mean. I don't like fighting."

"Okay, sure." Juice didn't look sure at all. "I'm sorry too," he added.

"Friends?" she asked. She reached out a hand. Juice shook it, though he still looked doubtful.

"Well, uh, there's a big party at the CaraCara studio tonight, d'you want to come?" he finally asked.

"What's CaraCara?"

Juice laughed. "A new business venture involving lots of girls. I'm headed out with Jax and Opie around 11. Cherry's going, too. Maybe you two could go together."

Maxine had met the girl a couple times since she'd found her way to Charming. After some initial drama, it had quickly become evident that she was as hopelessly in love with Half-Sack as he was with her.

"She's practically Sack's old lady now, so she's just going to keep an eye on her man," smirked Maxine. It turned to a slight frown as she spoke again."I dunno if it's really my place. A party at the clubhouse is one thing, but I'm just some... hangaround."

"What? You aren't a hangaround. You're my friend, remember? I want you to come tonight, it'll be more fun if you're there." Juice had the most convincing eyes and smile. _It's unfair_, Maxine thought. She sighed.

"Fine. I'll go for a bit, at least. Don't expect me to stay and watch when Tig starts getting a blowjob from two girls though." She grinned.

"Oh, you know ol' Tigger well enough to know that won't be all he'll be doing."

* * *

_Writer's Note:_ Back to friends. I hope you'll forgive me. I originally planned to really drag out this fight but like Maxine, I think it's frustrating. There needs to be more interaction between the two of them.

I'm not feeling too confident about the writing in this chapter and the next two, which I already have mostly written. Sorry if the writing quality is a little lower or more confusing, they're adjusted versions of things I wrote and thought up a long time ago.

Please review!


	10. Anarchy

Maxine arrived at CaraCara a with Half-Sack and Cherry. It'd been cheerfully explained to Maxine by Cherry that CaraCara was a porn studio, so she was surprised at the sight of the drab, grey building. She certainly wouldn't have guessed what went on inside from the exterior, but that was probably the point. Half-Sack was supposed to help set up early for the party, and his girlfriend wasn't going to leave him alone with a room of porn stars. Somehow, as always, Maxine got dragged into helping.

"WOMEN OF ANARCHY" proclaimed a sign hanging above the wide warehouse doorway. The font looked similar to the rockers on the Sons' cuts.

"Women of Anarchy?" Maxine questioned aloud. She hadn't been asking anyone in particular, but a blonde haired woman appeared out of nowhere, heels clicking on the pavement. Maxine was pretty sure her name was Luna or Luanne something. Some old lady with an old man in prison.

"Isn't it great?!" she exclaimed. "Came up with it myself. Wait 'til you see the girls, they have just the best little outfits. The guys are going to love it." She pulled Maxine along as she spoke. She continued to chatter while Maxine examined the studio.

"Who's this, Lu? New talent?" asked a slim brunette with wildly curled dark hair.

"I'm Maxine. Just a friend," she said, taking in the girl's outfit. Aside from the skimpy black lingerie and platform heels, she wore a black silk vest and had a fake toy gun strapped to her hip. What was notable about the vest, however, was the 'Sgt. At Arms' and 'Redwood Original' patches, along with a reaper on the back. The top rocker read 'SONS OF ANARCHY' and the bottom 'CARACARA.' The realization was like a slap to the face.

"Are you... are you supposed to be Tig?" Maxine was incredulous.

"Oh, I'm so glad you figured it out! Yeah, I am. That's the theme; all the girls are dressed like a Son," replied porn star Tig.

"I just thought it was a perfect way to show the new partnership between the studio and the club, don't you think?" added Lu-something or other.

"It's... very creative, Lu-... anne," said Maxine, somewhat comfortingly. She hoped she guessed the right name. The older woman looked pleased, then excused herself to go set up things. In truth, Maxine thought the whole thing seemed kind of creepy. But the sight of women in Sons cuts, even silky ones, gave her pause.

Left alone, Maxine checked out the rest of the outfits. There was a female President, Vice-President, and Secretary, all matching the Sgt. At Arms; a girl without a vest that she assumed was Happy, based on the small smiling faces drawn on her stomach. Some girls wore unbuttoned, silky shirts, the same cornflower blue as the Teller Morrow staff versions – complete with Teller Morrow logo and embroidered names.

She spotted the female-porn versions of Chibs and Opie, and then her eyes fell upon what could only be Juice's imitator. Her mouth couldn't help but drop open a bit. Red, frilly underwear and matching bra, a silky TM shirt claiming 'Juice' over the heart, and a pair of unmistakable lightning bolts placed at her hip bones, directing between her thighs. Her hair was jet black, falling in soft curls to her shoulders. Female-Juice was even a similar shade of olive to the male inspiration, though Juice definitely didn't possess the curves of this girl. Maxine wasn't sure she'd seen many prettier girls than her. Her eyes trailed after her, watching as the porn actress moved around the room. She had enormous, pillowy lips that seemed to match her hips and ass, and thickly lashed eyes that looked so dark they were nearly black. Maxine's gaping was interrupted at that very moment by an excited Cherry, who was modeling a vest like all the other girls, except it only had a bottom 'PROSPECT' rocker.

"Luanne is amazing! I can't believe she made this for me!" Cherry danced in front of Maxine's line of vision, twirling around in her new outfit.

"You look great, Cherry. Should we be helping set stuff up now?"

"Oh, yeah. I'll go find Sack, maybe some of the girls over there need a hand?" She gestured towards a cluster of female-Sons, and Maxine's throat caught a little at the sight of Juice. Well, female version of Juice, who happened to be staring right back at Maxine with a small smile.

"Cassidy," came the voice, hand extended. "But you can call me Cass."

"Maxine." She accepted the shake. "I'm fine with Max or Maxie, too."

"Friend of the boys?" asked Cassidy.

"Yeah, Juice and Half-Sack."

"Ah, so you know Juice. Can't say I've had a chance to meet him yet, though the girls around here seem to be really big fans. So, you're _just_ a friend?"

"Just a friend," Maxine replied firmly.

"Well, guess that makes us friends then, seeing as I'm pretending to be Juice tonight." Cassidy smiled at Maxine. It was different from Juice's smile – not the same open friendliness – but just as bright. Hers almost seemed to be hiding a funny secret, teasing at the corners.

Maxine didn't have time to think up a reply as the room suddenly filled with booming music set to heavy bass beats. Her new friend grabbed her hands, gesturing to dance. They were joined by the other CaraCara girls, who seemed to know all the lyrics to every song as they writhed next to Maxine and Cassidy. Time flew by as shots were passed around and practically poured down Maxine's throat. _Sobriety is hard when you go to this many parties._ She didn't dwell on the thought for long though, since Cassidy had begun to sway her body against Maxine's, guiding their hips with her hands. After countless songs, Maxine was feeling drunk from the tequila and Cass' teasing smile, so she excused herself to the bathroom. Everything swam in front of her eyes a little. Running a hand down to smooth her crumpled dress, she emerged from the bathroom at the sound of the boys arriving. Based on the Scottish-accented yells of approval, Chibs had evidently found his mistress in the TM shirt. But Maxine's eyes weren't on the Scot.

Cassidy was on Juice's arm. Her fingers stroked and squeezed his muscled biceps as she looked up at him, biting her lip. Juice, meanwhile, had a grin on his face that couldn't possibly get wider. Gold-ringed fingers trailed the fake tattoos on her hips that mimicked the pair on his head, and Cassidy let out a breathy giggle.

Had she been sober, Maxine might have felt frozen in place, but instead she wobbled sickly and walked outside as fast as she could. The pack of cigarettes she grabbed from her back pocket nearly fell to the ground; her hands were shaking so bad. After the initial rush the trembling somewhat subsided and Maxine let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding in. Even though she knew she wasn't in the best condition to ride, Maxine set off for the clubhouse, knowing it would be empty and suddenly wanting to be alone. She felt hot and ashamed, and wasn't entirely sure why.

The parking lot was bare. Not even Piney's trike was outside, which wasn't too surprising considering he'd been frequenting the cabin lately. Maxine walked over to the boxing ring. Scuffing her shoes against the pavement, she decided that building up a sweat would make her feel better and sober things up. She'd go to Juice's room in the clubhouse – he normally let her leave training clothes and shower gear there, and she'd dropped her bag back off earlier when they'd apologized.

She'd barely gotten the clubhouse door open when a knife was there to greet her face.

Maxine screamed and jumped backwards in surprise. She swore a blue-streak when she saw who was holding the knife.

"Chucky! What the fuck are you doing?" Maxine stared at him and angrily swiped at the small cut on her cheek, coming away with blood.

"Don't tell Jax! Or Clay! I thought you were an intruder. I was just trying to protect the clubhouse! I'm all alone, I promise."

"Fine, fine. I won't tell. But no more stabbing at anyone who walks in the door!"

"I accept that."Chucky carefully placed the large knife on the bar counter, then grabbed a rag for Maxine to wipe her face with.

"Why are you here anyway? It's a Friday."

"Two fingers isn't enough to get on the CaraCara guest list. But that's okay; I've been doing lots of good stuff around here! I organized the bar and cleaned the bathroom so far," he replied proudly. Maxine suddenly felt bad.

"Do you want some help cleaning? I was just going to grab some things from Juice's room and head home soon anyway."

"Oh no, that's not necessary. You go on ahead. Have a good night, I'm sorry about your cheek."

Chucky shuffled off, grabbing a vacuum from a closet and turning it on. Maxine watched him before turning and grabbing a few things from Juice's bedroom. She set her stuff down by the door, and then found a bucket and filled it with soapy water. Her and Half-Sack had taken care of the majority of the mess earlier, but Chucky seemed intent on making the clubhouse spotless. The two of them cleaned in silence, broken only by the hum of the vacuum and his happy, tuneless humming. Chucky disappeared eventually into a back room and didn't return so Maxine assumed he'd finally gone to bed. She glanced at her watch. It was 3:17 in the morning, no wonder why she was suddenly so sleepy. She leaned back against the couch.

* * *

"Hey... hey kid..." Bobby's voice woke Maxine. "Did you clean?"

"Eh?" she murmured groggily.

"Max? What are you doing here? I never saw you at the party," came Juice's voice. She opened her eyes just a bit. Juice was standing in front of her, a look of concern on his face and an arm around Cassidy, who had a smile that Maxine was too sleepy to decipher.

"I, uh, got too drunk. Had to pick some things up here... Must've fallen asleep."

"Well, fall asleep here any time if you're gonna clean things up like this," chuckled Bobby.

"Put the Prospect to shame," added Jax's voice from across the room.

"No, no," she said hastily. "It was all Chucky. I barely did anything."

"I can't believe you fuckin' left a party like that to come here and clean with Chucky," scoffed Tig. "And you think I'm weird."

"I wanted to leave before you did something gross," she replied. "Anyway, I'm gonna head back to my apartment. Bye." Maxine grabbed her bag and rushed for the door, but Juice grabbed her by the shoulders, finally letting go of Cass.

"Hey, I don't think you're good to ride. Just nap on the couch a little longer, okay?"

"I'm fine, Juice." She shrugged off his touch. "Have fun," she said, glancing at Cassidy. She realized as she rode away from the lot that it came off a lot colder than she meant it to. The palest pink shimmer emerged on the morning horizon as the engine roared towards home.

* * *

Maxine avoided TM for the rest of the weekend, noting with some annoyance that neither Sack nor Juice texted her. Her annoyance only deepened when she showed up on Monday at 5am to practice and Sack was still asleep. _He probably stayed up all night with Cherry, _she thought bitterly. As she stood outside contemplating whether to train alone or just go home, Cass emerged from the clubhouse wearing a baggy 'Reaper Crew' shirt that Maxine assumed belonged to Juice.

"Do you smoke?" called out Cassidy. Maxine silently walked over and accepted the light.

"You're up early," she continued, unperturbed by Maxine's sullenness.

"So are you," countered Maxine.

"Couldn't sleep, Juice always snores so loud."

_Always? They'd only met on Friday. Guess this is why Juice didn't text me all weekend... _Maxine realized she didn't want to think about it anymore, so she ignored her thoughts.

"I'm supposed to be training with Sack. We box together most mornings, but he must be sleeping."

"Oh. Cool. Yeah, it was a bit of a late night here." Her voice lowered, "haven't seen you around since the party... You doin' okay?" Cassidy actually looked worried.

"I'm fine, just been busy. You don't need to ask that." Maxine wasn't in the mood for this.

"Well, who else is going to ask?" Maxine raised a brow at Cassidy's comment.

"Thanks for the smoke." Her boot crushed the smoking remains and she stalked off to her bike. Maxine tore out of the lot as Sack came running out the clubhouse door, huffing, wearing boxers and slippers.

"Shit. That was Max, wasn't it?" he asked Cassidy.

"In the flesh."

"Shit."

* * *

Someone was knocking at Maxine's front door. Her eyes narrowed, and she reached into a kitchen drawer for the small automatic gun that she wasn't supposed to have, according to her probation officer. She wasn't expecting anyone, and aside from Wendy she'd never brought anyone over. Walking over to the door handle, Maxine flipped the lock to open, and then stepped away from the door to set up a clear shot. She felt fleeting déjà-vu of her last encounter with Chucky, although the roles were reversed now. The knocker opened the door cautiously, calling out Maxine's name, and covered a cry when she saw the gun pointed at her face. Maxine lowered the gun but didn't apologize.

"What are you doing here Cass? And how did you find my place?"

Cassidy looked shaky, which was perhaps understandable considering mere seconds ago she'd had a gun kissed against her forehead.

"I came by to ch-check on you. Juice found your address somehow through some database. I'm s-sorry." Listening to this, Maxine sighed, sinking down into her only couch and gesturing to Cass to join.

"I'm the one who should apologize. Cass, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. But I don't understand why Juice is sending you to check up on me, either."

"He's not! I came here because I felt bad about this morning. I just asked him to find your address; I didn't know it was so secret."

"Oh."

"I really think we could be good friends," said Cassidy, reaching her hand out and holding Maxine's. "Juice thinks you're amazing, and when I met you at the party... I don't know anyone like you."

Maxine's brow creased in confusion. _Huh?_ Cassidy's hand stroked Maxine's cheek as she tilted towards her, kissing her lips.

"Is that okay?" Cassidy whispered.

_It's more than okay_, thought Maxine. Except it made all of the conflicting feelings she'd had in her head lately even more distorted. Maxine didn't know if it was she or Cass who leaned in first, but suddenly they were kissing again, lips parting. Cass had the most incredibly kissable lips, and she tasted like fruity lip gloss. Their bodies fit together in a way Maxine couldn't have imagined as Cassidy straddled her lap, allowing Maxine to admire the softness of her curves. But Maxine pulled away.

"I think you should go."

Cassidy looked hurt at first, but nodded. She gave Maxine a sad smile before standing and walking out the door. _Fuck_, thought Maxine. Fifteen minutes later, her worn runners struck against the pavement, as if she hoped punishing her body to exhaustion would take away the guilt she felt.


	11. Dinner

"You smell disgusting." Juice's nose wrinkled.

"Probably."

"Like... worse than you normally do after training with Sack for five hours. Worse than him even," his face became thoughtful, "You smell like... wet cheetos, rotten bananas, and Bobby's seat after a run."

"Even better than I expected."

"You smell like Opie's beanie. And that guy never showers."

"Beanie?"

"That knitted hat thing he always wears. The black one."

"You mean his toque?"

"The fuck is a toque?" Juice cackled.

"It's what it's called!" Maxine tried to look annoyed. Instead, it was a relief to argue over stupid things with her friend again. Things like what to call a knitted hat. Their friendship seemed to be numbered by periods of total silence, and after three days of not talking, she'd already missed him.

"Juice!" Jax yelled as he walked by them. "Garage, now! We've got a tow."

"See ya later, Smelly." Juice ruffled Maxine's hair affectionately. "Take a shower." He wiped his hand on his work pants, and muttered "gross" under his breath as he walked off.

Cassidy watched them with interest, leaning back against the boxing ring.

...

"Hey, Max, want to do something today?"

"What?" Maxine was surprised to see her. She decided to just ignore what had happened and be friendly. _Nothing wrong with that,_ she told herself.

"Woah, you smell really bad." Manicured nails pinched her nose shut, Cass' face contorting.

"I've been told. I was compared to Bobby's bike seat." Maxine smirked.

"What the hell were you doing? You definitely didn't smell like this last night when I –"

"Working out," Maxine said quickly.

...

Emerging from her office with eyes narrowed, Gemma strode over towards the pair, interrupting their conversation but unconcerned. Everything that went on at TM and the clubhouse was her business. And Maxine was still on thin ice, as far as Gemma was concerned. She greeted them, raising an eyebrow at Maxine's disheveled appearance and offensive body odour, but chose not comment.

"So, sell that bike yet?" Gemma gave Maxine an appraising look.

"Uh, haven't really had much for real offers..." Maxine swallowed hard.

"Hm, strange considering all the calls I get inquiring about it." She held Maxine's uncomfortable gaze. "Gonna have to start changing you a bigger storage fee. My time isn't free."

Maxine sensed she wasn't kidding.

"Oh, and Cassidy, dinner tonight at 7pm. Juice begged to bring you as a guest." Gemma's face was stony as she looked at the porn actress. "Don't make me regret my charitable nature."

"She's gonna eat me alive," whispered Cass to Maxine as soon as Gemma was out of earshot. "Come on, take a shower. We need to go shopping.

* * *

Hair still wet, Maxine looked morose as Cass excitedly dragged her around a mall in Lodi for two hours. Cass put together an outfit for dinner that made her look nothing like herself – gone were the tight, brightly coloured, and small pieces of clothing – and everything like Gemma. Dark wash flared jeans, a chain belt of silver medallions, and a tight black top with crystal accents. Unable to muster more than thumbs up, Maxine sighed inwardly when her new friend dropped her off at her apartment. Maxine wasn't sure what to think of Cass – _the friend you make out with? Who also happens to be your best friend's date for family dinner at Gemma's?_ Turning the key in the lock, Maxine wondered how the evening would play out and felt almost glad she wasn't invited.

The apartment was empty. Not that it was really a surprise considering Maxine hadn't done much to it aside from add a couch and a bed. The walls were stark white, the rent was cheap, the floor was grey linoleum, and the neighbours minded their own business. The only real decoration was an 80s style crystal chandelier that hung low from the ceiling and didn't even work. Assessing the room with a critical eye, she wondered if she hadn't invited anyone over because she was embarrassed. Even the clubhouse, while obviously not a designer's dream, was full of memories and life. Her apartment was barren and stoic in its functionality. _Maybe I should get curtains? Or those pointless little pillows? A decorative bowl of fake fruit?_

She pulled open a squeaky cupboard, and set to making herself a meal. As she slurped a bowl of (instant mix) soup, and munched on a stale cracker, Maxine realized how alone she felt.

* * *

Gemma surveyed the crowd that was collecting in her living room. Club members, old ladies, children, and Juice's new porn star toy. She noted with wry amusement the girl's attempt at flattery by imitation. She didn't like former-junkie Maxine very much, but she'd still prefer Juice hanging out with the smelly girl who refused to sell her bike than the porn star that was trying to dress like her.

The club may be trying more legitimate ventures, but it didn't mean Gemma was going to have open arms for the fake-titted baggage that came along with that decision.

"Hey baby," she said, kissing Jax's cheek.

"Hey ma," replied Jax. "Thanks for inviting Cass, I know you didn't have to do that." Sometimes it seemed like her son could read her mind.

"Just wanted to get that tattooed idiot off my back; I hate when he makes those puppy eyes at me."

"Is that the trick to getting my way with you?" Jax flashed his signature grin.

"No baby, you've already got that damn smile." She placed a loving hand on his cheek and gave him a kiss. "Now go be VP, I have casserole in the oven."

As dinner was served, Gemma eyed the girl who sat to Juice's left. He happily chattered away, as usual, while she nervously sipped glass after glass of wine. After the meal, which the paid pussy barely touched, she tottered around and hung off of Juice's arm like she was drowning. Gemma decided to play the gracious host and ensured to offer drinks to all the guests... one in particular. The night culminated with a stumbling Cass, babbling loudly to Juice and anyone within earshot, proclaiming that she felt unwell and suddenly vomiting behind the large potted fern in the living room. Things wrapped up quickly thereafter. Juice's carried Cassidy outside to finish retching, while the prospect cleaned up the stain behind the plant. Hearty laughs were had at the expense of the CaraCara actress, and a bike roared off outside, with Cassidy presumably on the back.

_Carpeting was just a casualty of war_, Gemma thought silently. That girl was no good for Juice. Maybe the glorified crow-eater would learn her place wasn't at family dinner and was instead back at the porn studio.

* * *

Maxine didn't ask Sack about family dinner the next morning at practice, but got an earful anyway, right down to the consistency of Cass' vomit. She noted that Juice didn't show up to work on time at 6am, and when he did finally show, 45 minutes late, he was lacking the bounce in his step and sported large black bags under his eyes. His arrival was met with jeers, and Juice met the heckling with total silence.

After the requisite 2 hours of practice with Half-Sack, Maxine left to shower and make something actually nutritious for lunch, planning to return talk to her friend in a few hours and get his side of the story.

* * *

"Hey," she greeted Juice cautiously.

"Hi," he replied, sounding tired.

"So-o-o," she prodded. Juice answered her unasked question.

"It was fucking awful. She puked in my bed too; I don't even think I got even two hours of sleep. And she wouldn't stop crying." Juice rubbed a tired hand across his face and gave his mohawk a scratch. Maxine held dug into his shirt pocket for him. She knew it was where he always had at least a joint or two hiding. Holding it towards him, she found a lighter and placed it in his mouth.

"Tanks," he mumbled out through a mouthful of smoke. "Gem'll ream me out for smoking on the job if she catches us. C'mon."

Maxine and Juice lay back on the bed in his room at the clubhouse, passing the joint back and forth, inhaling and exhaling. She decided that right now he needed her as his smoke buddy more than she needed to keep up her self-imposed sobriety. Sobriety had been failing a lot lately as is with all the drinking and a few cups of coffee, but it wasn't like she'd touched a needle.

"Maxie, how do I manage to fuck everything up?"

"This wasn't your fault, Juice. She just had too much to drink, got nervous."

"I was no help though, I didn't..." he stared at the ceiling, counting tiles. "I shouldn't have invited her. I've barely known her a week. Gemma's probably so pissed at me."

"Mistakes happen, and it's over now. It's not like she did something horrible; the carpet is cleaner if anything. Gemma should be happy for the favour." Maxine turned her head, and gave him a small smile. Juice let out a faint chuckle, smiling for the first time that day.

"Guess so." Juice shuffled his body so that he could rest his head on Maxine's stomach. She could hear his breathing slow, the poor guy was obviously exhausted. She gave him a nudge.

"Juice? Your lunch break is gonna be over soon."

"M'not going back," he murmured sleepily. She let him be, realizing it'd be like trying to wake a bear from hibernation at this point. Her nails lightly dragged through his short cropped hair as she watched the sleeping man, his heavy arm draped across her waist. Maxine felt herself grow tired at the sound of his snores. She fell into a calm sleep.

...

When Maxine stirred, the room was shadowy with late afternoon light, and her body was held by strong arms. She didn't remember falling asleep in this position but she was in no rush to move. It felt safe. Rubbing her eyes, she realized someone was watching her. Juice's liquid brown eyes were open.

"Hey," his voice had a hoarse, sleepy timbre. "Sleep okay?"

"Um... slept great, actually." Juice murmured in assent, kissing her forehead. Maxine felt strange when he kissed her – perhaps it was their proximity or her just-woken state – but she liked his soft, warm lips. Even though they were both awake now, Juice hadn't freed her from his grasp. Maxine pushed against his chest, creating some much needed space between them.

"Do you feel any better now?" she asked.

"Feel great, actually." Juice smiled and Maxine couldn't help but smile back. She liked when he was silly and parroted back her answers.

"So what are you gonna do about Cass?"

Juice's smile faded and he relinquished his hold on her body. Maxine wanted his arms to return to their former position all curled around her, but she reminded herself that she wasn't looking at her man. He was with Cassidy, more or less. He'd liked her enough to beg to bring her to a family dinner after barely a week of knowing each other, after all. There was something there.

"Juice?" Maxine wasn't going to let him get away without answering.

"I dunno. I guess I'm gonna break it off."

"What? Juice! You can't give up over a few too many glasses of wine. It's obvious you like her."

Juice frowned and cracked his fingers.

"I'm just not good with the whole girlfriend thing. I barely know her anyway, all we do is fuck."

Maxine winced inwardly. More things she didn't want to know. "Then why don't you work on getting to know her? I like her, she's really nice." _And really sexy_, she added silently.

"You like her?" Juice looked surprised.

"Yeah, I mean, I met her at the party before you guys got there. And she came by my apartment the other day," she replied. "I think... she'd be good to you." Maxine was honest, even though she knew this might mean losing her best friend. He'd disappear into the world of old lady; attentions completely taken up with thoughts of dates, marriage, and eventually babies. It had happened to Half-Sack practically the second Cherry stepped into Charming's city limits.

"Do you mean that?" Juice's eyes watched her, but seemed to be searching somewhere beyond the surface. She could swear those big, beautiful brown eyes were the world's nicest x-ray machine.

"I mean that."

"Thanks Max." He kissed her forehead again, reawakening that nice feeling from before. Groaning, he stretched and hopped out of bed, offering her a hand up. "Guess I've got a girl to get back then."

* * *

Silently, Juice wondered if he was getting back the right one.


	12. Want

"You." Juice said it without a smile and looked at Maxine, his eyes full of intent.

"What?" she whispered.

Without warning, the hands that had been helping pull her up from the bed grabbed her by the shoulders. Maxine found herself roughly pinned against the wall. Juice's breaths were low and ragged, almost grunts. His hands roamed freely, finally cupping underneath her butt and lifting her as he braced against the wall. She moaned, leaving her breath hot on his ear.

"You're the girl I want back," he said huskily. His words ghosted against Maxine's lips, making her shiver slightly before she let her hunger take over. She didn't bother with a polite or shy kiss. Instead, she grabbed his face, jerking it to the best angle to explore his mouth. _So fucking good. _Juice tasted faintly of smoke and entirely of something delicious. Her tongue licked inside, savouring the wet heat, and pushing for more. He complied. She could feel him growing hard and responded by wrapping her legs tighter around his waist, grinding her hips to his. Maxine almost could have come from sheer desire and the feel of him pushing against her jeans – she wanted him inside so badly.

Juice seemed intent on doing more before that happened though. His hands stroked the soft flesh of her stomach, as she shivered at the touch. He moved further north, his fingers exploring the texture of a lacy black bra and rubbing her nipples; he seemed satisfied as they stiffened at his touch. Keeping her propped against the wall, Juice leaned his head down to suck on them through the fabric, creating a pleasing damp warmth on her bra.

"_Crisse…_Christ…" Maxine's voice broke as she sharply inhaled, fingers clutching at anything she could. Her body felt like it was dissolving away at his very mouth.

Shirts suddenly seemed entirely unnecessary. Her hands pushed underneath the fabric, fingernails razing his defined abs. Juice pulled his shirt off and gave her a kiss and a bite on each earlobe. She whimpered in reply while his hand moved towards her thigh, brushing against the insides of her leg – teasing and avoiding touching where she wanted him to. Maxine's own hands reached between their bodies and moved to his pants, stroking lightly him through the fabric. Now it was Juice's turn to moan. Fingers moving expertly, she undid his belt, a warm hand slipping inside.

She'd never imagined him to be so... thick. A shiver of nervous anticipation wracked her body. She'd never been with anyone that big. Brushing up against Juice at the hospital that one day evidently had just been a teaser. Maxine was tired of teasing.

Maxine couldn't see Juice's face anymore, everything was just dark shadows as he thrusted into her grip, driving her harder against the wall. Their lips met again and Maxine let Juice guide her body down to the floor. He was sweet for a moment; softly kissing her and brushing the hair away from her face. Her hand still gripped his cock, however, and she gave him a squeeze to remind him of what they were in the middle of doing.

Shirts and jeans were violently pulled off. Juice even tore her silky thong in his haste to get contact. Maxine's breath was coming in torn and quick starts. _Fuck, I want you so bad Juice._

"Juice... I need –"

Maxine didn't finish her sentence before Juice was inside her. Her nails dragged down his chest in ecstasy, and she swore she could feel the pulse of his every heart beat under her finger tips. His body was pure filth – so utterly meant for pleasure with each muscled dip and rise. Maxine screamed out as he pumped into her with a stroke so violent that she hit her head against the wall.

And then she woke up.

She was lying on the floor in her bedroom, her head throbbing. She'd obviously fallen off the bed and knocked her head on the bedside table during the dream_. Fuck_. _It was so real_. And based on the slick wet between her thighs, it felt real too.

Maxine felt both horrified and calm. Horrified that she'd finally realized how much she wanted him, and calm because it explained why she was so tense and why their friendship was consistently on the rocks. _I'm jealous of the other women_. And with a sickening lurch, she realized where Juice was headed now: CaraCara.

* * *

Juice leaned against his bike in the lot of the CaraCara studio. He fiddled with his rings. It'd been a weird past few days. He didn't think he had the space in his brain to hold all these thoughts anymore. For the past five years, in his growth from prospect to present, almost every thought that dominated his head involved the club. And there was certainly plenty to think about the club lately; Stahl was still skulking around Charming, the verdict would be coming down incredibly soon on the possession of automatic weapons, and Jax's head was somewhere miles away – to the point that it was dividing the table.

Yet despite it all, Juice was here worrying about a girl. Specifically worrying if he was here for the _right_ girl. Cass was nice, at least Maxine was right about that much. She lived up to the porn star cred in the sack and had an insanely sexy body. But it still just felt like screwing another croweater.

Juice wondered if he'd always be left searching for that connection he wanted so badly.

_Maybe it doesn't even exist. Or maybe it just doesn't exist for someone like me. _Juice never experienced that all-consuming, life-altering love that Jax and Tara had, and they'd know the second they met that they were meant for each other. He'd never had that sweet, honest, protective passion for someone that Opie and Donna possessed; the kind of love that made you wait five years on opposite sides of prison bars. And if he'd never known either kind of love, he couldn't dream of being with someone like Clay was with Gemma. That comfortable, I-still-find-you-sexy love that aged over time and survived incomprehensible loss.

"Juice?" Cass' surprised voice interrupted his pondering.

"Hey baby," he said, smiling. Her platform heels clicked against the pavement as she ran into his arms. _Mmm. _She was wearing her 'work uniform': a tiny black thong slipped overtop matching black garters, and a silky black bra that pushed her generous chest nearly up to her neck. "You look sexy," he growled.

As her pillowy lips crushed against his, he pushed away his thoughts. _She smells like pussy and other people. _He focused on licking his tongue against hers. It was a porn studio after all, no one would give a shit if there was some PDA going on in the lot outside. Cassidy leaned heavily against him, curling her fingers around the collar of his cut.

"I didn't think you still wanted to see me," she said. Her eyes were wide. "I'm so sorry, Juice-baby."

"I don't give up over a few too many glasses of wine." Maxine's words ricocheted around his brain. He didn't know if he believed them.

"You're so sweet, babe. You smell good too! It's different, I like it."

He could smell it too. Juice realized that Maxine's clean, soothing scent had become soaked into his clothes.

"Do you wanna head into one of the private dressing rooms? I can show you how much I appreciate how forgiving you are." Cass' smile had a wicked tilt.

"Actually, Cass, I was thinking you could get changed and we could pick up a late dinner. Y'know, talk and stuff. Maybe go see a movie."

"Like a date?" She sounded shocked.

"Um, yeah, I guess."

"Oh Juice! You really are the sweetest!" Her arms wrapped around his neck as she kissed him wetly.

* * *

Dinner was awkward. Juice's head was too focused on other things to pay attention to the gorgeous woman that sat in front of him. Additionally, he wasn't really a date kind of guy. Not because he didn't think it was important – it was, definitely was – but he'd never had a whole lot of experience. He'd been wrapped up in a world of computers and teenage crime until he hit his twenties, then he'd appeared out of seemingly nowhere in Charming and prospected for SAMCRO. Women were always available, always easy; especially when he flashed that million dollar smile and treated them the way he did in the bedroom.

Great sex didn't mean girlfriends though. There was a girl once, when he'd been a fresh patch of a year, that he saw a few times a week. It dissolved as quickly as it had come, and he hadn't missed her more than any other croweater. The consequence of this all was that Juice didn't know how to talk to women; how to wine and dine them, how to make them want you and not the reaper on your back. Maxine was different – she treated him like a friend, despite the mistakes he made with her sometimes.

He found himself wishing Maxine was here instead of Cass. Or, at the very least, just here. She'd break the ice with her shy smiles and make him feel comfortable rambling about stupid shit. She'd be nice to Cass and ask her all the questions that Juice should be asking, but didn't know how to.

Suddenly it seemed like the best idea in the world. Excusing himself, Juice rushed to the washroom and grabbed out his cellphone as he stood in front of the urinal. Unzipping his pants, he directed the stream and pressed call. Maxine picked up right away. She sounded out of breath.

"Juice?"

He realized it was probably a bad idea to be holding his dick and talking to her at the same time. It was weirdly arousing and making it difficult to pee.

"Uh, Maxie, hey! Look, I was wondering... uh..." He paused and then it all came out in a rush. "I'm out at dinner with Cass right now and it's going really fucking terrible and I don't know how to talk to chicks and I'm really trying but I was wondering if you could come and pretend to just run into us and maybe join for dinner."

"You want me to crash your date?"

"Er, yeah. Please."

"_Tabarnac de câlisse_." Maxine swore in French. Juice liked when she did that, it sounded hilarious. "You're an idiot. Fine."

...

"Oh wow, hey guys! So weird that we showed up at the same restaurant tonight!" Maxine was a really bad actress, but Juice was incredibly relieved that she'd showed up.

To Cass' credit, she rolled with it. If anything, she seemed relieved at the other girl's presence, too. The food arrived and dinner actually became fun. Maxine listened intently, laughing and smiling in all the right places, and asking questions. Juice found himself telling them stories about his prospecting days – one incident involving a diaper and 'vitamins' in particular – and enjoying Cass' occasionally disgusting porn industry stories.

"I'm having way too much fun to go to a movie," said Cass as Juice paid the bill. "There's a new club in town, they have a great DJ on Saturdays. We should all go!"

Maxine glanced at her watch, obviously trying her best to act again. "Oh, uh, I think there was something I had to do, I should probably go –"

"No!" Juice and Cass both interrupted her at the same time. Juice gave her a sheepish grin. "Er, I think you should stay Max. The more the merrier, right?"

"Yeah, yeah I agree." Cass nodded enthusiastically. She grabbed each of them by the hand, pulling them outside.

Maxine seemed confused, and shot Juice a questioning stare when Cass wasn't looking, but he just winked. _Best of both worlds._

...

The club was just like every other club Juice had ever been to: loud, sweaty, and dark. Remixed top 40 dance hits played over speakers, and he noted that the speakers evidently weren't properly calibrated for the heavy bass sounds. He could've probably fixed the issue if someone gave him 15 minutes.

Leaving Maxine and Cass to the crowd on the dance floor, Juice disappeared to the bar. He turned around, leaning against the bar and drinking his beer, and watched the girls with a smirk. Cass was grinding up against Maxine, singing every lyric, while Maxine nuzzled her head into the other girl's shoulder and held her hips. It was almost uncomfortably sexy. Just as he began to get settled and enjoy the view, he noticed two guys appear nearby, with far too friendly hands. He set down his beer and began to move swiftly to the floor.

"Fuck off, I'm dancing with my girlfriend."

Juice listened as Cass spoke to the unwanted new attention.

"Come on, you're just two straight girls out for fun. We know how it goes."

"You think I'm not serious?" Cass challenged. Turning Maxine's face to hers, Cass enveloped her lips in a _very serious_ kiss. She licked at Maxine's lips, parting them, and deepening the embrace.

_Holy shit._ Juice's pants suddenly felt painfully tight around the crotch. He shot a menacing glare at the two drooling idiots that had now backed off. Even though his head tattoos were the product of a drunken dare at nineteen years old and had horrified his mother, he was occasionally thankful that they made him appear far more threatening than he really was.

Maxine broke the kiss. She looked around wildly. "Juice, oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean –"

Juice quieted her with a finger pressed against her lips. Cass had that wicked smile again. She backed up against Juice, writhing against him, and grabbed Maxine close again. The three of them danced and become part of the sweaty, throbbing crowd that vibrated to the sounds of the DJ. Drinks were poured and slammed back. Juice knew that Maxine didn't drink much and the liquor seemed to be hitting her especially hard after two hours of non-stop grinding and gyrating.

"I think we should head out," he shouted over the music. Cass shouted back a yes, while Maxine continued to slump against him, her arms limply thrown over his shoulders.

...

It was unbelievable. Juice was laying in his bed in his dorm room, his body spooned around Cass while she had arms wrapped around a drunken Maxine. Light, sleepy snores came from Maxine, and Juice grinned.

"You love her, don't you?" whispered Cass, leaning back against him.

"Of course I do, she's my best friend."

"But you love her as more than that. Otherwise you wouldn't have invited her tonight." Even in the darkness, Juice could see the intensity of Cass' gaze on him.

"I didn't invite her, she just ran into us at-"

Cass chuckled lowly. "You don't have to pretend anymore, Juice. It was pretty obvious, she's really bad at lying."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Don't be. I had fun anyway. I can see why you love her - if you don't go for it, I will." The moonlight that managed to creep in through the blinds glinted off of Cassidy's white teeth. She left him to contemplate. "Goodnight Juice," she said sweetly, kissing him on the cheek.

* * *

_Writer's Note: _I had some difficulty writing this chapter - I didn't quite know how to bring together Juice, Cass, and Max. Writer's block hit me for the first time with this story so I just skipped this chapter and started writing things for chapter 14 onwards. (Hence the late update. Though I did post three chapters last time I updated, hope that helped.) The end result is okay. I'm not super pleased with it and Cass isn't much of a solid character, but oh well.

Please review. Cheers.


	13. Stockton

"So, how was the threesome last night?"

Maxine peered over her steaming cup of coffee at Tig, narrowing her eyes.

"Nothing happened. I got drunk and crashed their date." Slurping her coffee, she swore as it burned the roof of her mouth. Tig snickered.

"Now you're sneaking out before anyone notices... Well, my lips are sealed if you let me dunk my balls in your mouth," he grinned.

"Fuck you."

"Gladly, dollface."

Maxine groaned and walked away from Tig. She wasn't into early morning propositions, at least, not from him. _What did happen last night though? _She'd woken up sweaty in between Juice and Cass, both of their arms wrapped around her, and their bodies pressed close. Her underwear and bra seemed intact. Unable to handle the sheer body heat coming from the pair, Maxine had unlatched herself from their grasps and disappeared to the clubhouse kitchen.

_Whatever. Don't think about it – you should get to work._

* * *

Juice and Cass were both sitting cross legged on his bed facing each other.

"We're done, I guess?" he asked.

"I don't really see the point." She shrugged. "You're really fun to fuck though."

"One more time for old times' sake?" Juice raised a devious brow. Cass licked her lips. Then suddenly those lips were enveloping his, her arms wrapping around his neck and pushing him back against the sheets, and her barely clothed bottom straddling his waist. Juice groaned as her hands rubbed him though his boxers and her mouth placed hot, wet kisses down his collarbone. Cass' head moved lower, licking along his pectorals and abdominal muscles, and nudging down his underwear.

"Babe, you have such a fucking hot cock," she mumbled. Normally the porn star talk would bother him, but somehow knowing that it was her day job made it seem nonchalant. Her mouth made a symphony of sucking and slurping noises against his skin that were simultaneously highly arousing and disgusting. It sounded like a porno. _Can't imagine why..._ Juice vaguely wondered if Maxine had been like this with Kozik – after all, it was how he'd described her technique.

He felt himself harden at the thought and Cass enthusiastically gorged herself, taking it as a sign of doing something right.

"Shit, Cass, I'm gonna blow."

"Come for me, Juice." Thick black lashes batted at him and she increased her speed and pressure. It was becoming too much... Juice felt himself moaning as she lapped up every last drop of his pleasure. His fingers coiled in her hair. Pulling her head up to his, he kissed her with an open-mouth, not minding the mess she'd made.

"That was amazing." He loved her below-the-belt ministrations. And she was gorgeous to watch while she focused on her work.

"Gonna be amazing for me?" she said with a wink. Juice didn't reply. Instead, he licked deeper into her mouth and pulled the paper-thin tank top off her body. Reaching into a cupboard beside his bed, he found the strong, silky fabric that he kept for such occasions. Cass shivered as he gently wound it around her wrists and tied firm knots to the bedpost. Only when she was unable to escape, despite her writhing, did he begin to tease her senses. He watched her reaction as his hands ghosted above her skin without making contact. Cass whimpered and strained to feel his touch, but Juice only tutted and pushed her down gently. Keeping up the delicacy, he kissed along her jawline and then moved to the crook of her elbow, softly brushing his lips along to her wrist. Index finger trailing her cleavage, he kissed below her bra, giving a light pinch to nipples that were taut with excitement. Cass gasped at the feel of his teeth grazing against the fabric.

Becoming a little rougher, he pulled down her bra and marveled at the sight of her generous chest. He nipped and rolled her nipples between both teeth and fingers, making Cass moan loudly. Juice was more than aware of the effect he was having on her – he didn't have to hear the pleading tone to her voice as she begged for more. She whimpered as he slowly nudged down her thong, kissing at her curvy thighs and hipbones.

This was his favourite part: Seeing a woman nearly climax from pure excitement. The way they bit their lower lip, pleaded, and strained to be touched. He kissed between her legs, alternating pressure with tongue and lips, and pushed a finger inside. Juice smiled as Cass descended into incoherent, babbling bliss. She was positively dripping. They both moaned in unison when he entered her – condom aside, the feel of two bodies together was incredible. Juice focused on his breathing, intent on not finishing before she did, and thrusted as deep as possible.

It felt like he was reaching Cass' very core. She screamed and her walls tensed around him. He continued to stroke in and out despite her orgasm, prolonging it as long as he could. His teeth bit against the tender skin on her shoulder as he came.

They lay there, panting. Cass cuddled up against Juice's side and placed kisses all over his neck and shoulders while he stared at the ceiling, exhausted with satisfaction.

"I'm gonna miss that, Ortiz. But you should go talk to her," Cass said finally.

"Y'know, it feels really weird discussing this with you, especially after sex. Not exactly pillow-talk." Juice laughed and kissed her forehead. "I'll talk to her soon."

* * *

Stockton Women's Correctional Facility was an imposing mass of concrete and metal fencing. Although Maxine knew in her head that her sentence had been deemed served by a judge, she couldn't help the fear that clenched her heart as she walked in the prison doors. Five years in there had elevated the building to a status of incomparable dread.

Pulling out her laminated ID card, she scanned it, and nodded to the receptionist that was protected behind plexiglass. The hallways sounded hollow as her shoes clicked against the waxed floor. Knocking on Reverend McCullough's door, she entered and sat in front of the kindly, grey haired prison chaplain. It always interested her that his innocent, elderly looks hid a head full of radical ideas. Greetings out of the way, their talk quickly turned to business.

"So, Maxine, how have things been? I trust you visited Judith's family in Oakland?" he asked.

"Of course. I saw Judy's son and gave him his birthday present. It was really hard not to cry when he started to ask when his mom was going to come home." Maxine stared at the wall, willing herself not to give into those feelings in front of a man she respected.

"Innocence is a delicate thing." The reverend patted her knee. "But I knew you'd be able to handle it."

"Reverend, if you don't mind my asking, what exactly are you hoping to accomplish with all this? I understand that you want me to be a connection to women on the inside to their families, but sometimes it just seems like I'm opening up old wounds. These women are never getting out. Or when they do, their children will have long since grown up. Isn't it better for everyone if they move on?"

"I didn't ask you to help me just so I could have a courier, Maxine. You have a gentle heart, and you've survived loss and struggle. There is a strength within. You understand these women in a way that I can only sympathize with. I don't believe our prison system is reforming anyone by sentencing them to indefinite sentences and no visitation rights. It can be hard to see, but you have to know that you are doing an invaluable service. You give these women a reason to live another day – to persevere and not lose hope. It is a kindness every human deserves."

Maxine willed herself to have the optimism to believe this, to not let the cynic within insist that it was all for nought.

"I want you to reach out beyond what you've been doing. There are women here that are set to be released and need help readjusting. Their families need help. Beyond what the probation officers and correctional system can offer them."

"I'm still readjusting!" Maxine retorted.

"And how is that going? Who do you spend time with, how do you spend your days?"

She felt defeated. All her answers felt feeble. _I spend my time hanging around a motorcycle club, boxing in illegal warehouse fights for cash, and feeling confused about my feelings for my best friend. And sometimes you pay me to visit the families that aren't allowed to contact their mothers, daughters, and wives._

"Maxine?" he prodded.

"I... work out a lot. Hang out with friends. I don't do a whole lot."

"Maybe you should seek out other work? I know I can't pay you much, and it would keep you busy while helping with living expenses."

"Yeah, I've been looking for jobs. I'm terrible with computers and I have a record, that makes it hard sometimes."

Reverend McCullough assured her she would figure it out, and they chattered for a few more minutes before she stood to leave.

"I'll be in contact soon, Maxine. Think about what we discussed and keep well."

* * *

"Juicey!" Chibs sidled up to him. "C'mon, we've got church, Rosen's here."

Everyone was already present when Chibs and Juice entered, including Rosen. The tailored lawyer looked serious as always, his thinning brown hair perfectly coiffed. He nodded at the pair as Chibs swung the door shut. It closed with a final sounding _thud._

"ATF is pushing hard on this federal weapons charge. The judge will be giving his sentencing later today; I'll be letting you know as soon as I do. I've done all I can, but Stahl is making this case out to be her crowning glory."

"I fucking hate that bitch," mused Tig.

"Not exactly a radical opinion there, brother." Bobby's smile was grim.

Juice felt sick. He knew it could be years before he was released. Later that day, when the call came from Rosen on the sentence, he would only feel sicker.

* * *

"Max... I need to tell you something," said Juice seriously. _This isn't good,_ thought Maxine. "Come on; let's go talk in my room. I want some privacy." _This really isn't good..._

"So what's going on Juice?" she asked innocently.

He didn't answer at first, only sighed and reached for her hand, lacing his fingers in with hers.

"Do you remember when I went to prison? Got shanked?"

"Of course I do, it was horrible. That's a silly thing to ask." Maxine's brow knitted together in confusion.

"Remember why I went to prison?" he prodded.

"Well... we didn't really talk about it but Sack mentioned something about showing up armed at a community dinner." Maxine felt a lump in her throat grow. _You don't just pull a gun on thirty innocent Christian families and go for prison for one day._

"I'm gonna be gone for a while..." Juice replied, his voice hoarse. He looked on the edge of tears.

"How long?" she whispered.

"Fourteen months at least. I'll behave and it won't be any longer, I promise." Juice tried to smile as he spoke but there was no humour in the situation or his voice. His hand squeezed Maxine's tightly.

"Oh god, Juice. I'm so sorry."

"Hey, hey. It's not your fault. I knew what I was doing – I'm probably long overdue for some prison time at this point anyway."

Maxine could well imagine what Juice was feeling right now: scared. He'd done minor stints in prison, at most six months. But his previous crimes were juvenile and didn't land him in maximum security lock up. _Fourteen months without Juice..._

"You'll get through this," she said. There was no use in trying to pretend cheerfulness or play down what lay ahead for him. "It's going to be hard sometimes, but it's not forever. You have your brothers with you. And I'll be here waiting."

"ATF is picking us up tomorrow, according to Unser." Juice looked even closer to tears now. There was no way to prepare yourself to lose your freedom that quickly.

A small, sad sound escaped Maxine's throat. _Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. _So she didn't. Instead, she let go of Juice's hand and wrapped her arms around him tightly, kissing him on the cheek and burying her face into his shoulder.

Juice returned the hug, his arms holding her tighter. A hand moved up her back and grabbed a fistful of her hair. Maxine could feel Juice nuzzling against her head, deeply inhaling and exhaling – his breaths were on the boundary of becoming sobs.

"I love you, Juice," she whispered.

Juice didn't reply for a moment – he held her closer. Maxine could feel a slight dampness where his face touched her head, but didn't comment. When Juice spoke, his voice was raw and emotional.

"I love you too, Maxine."

They stayed tangled together, fending off the tears that threatened to fall and take over, until fitful sleep overtook their bodies. Maxine trembled as she slept. The evening light brought nightmares and memories of five hellish, lonely years. She dreamt of Juice; him as a victim of another prison attack and dying in her arms. She couldn't save him.

...

A pounding at the door tore Maxine from her troubled mind. With a creak, the frame opened and revealed a solemn looking Chibs.

"ATF's gonna be here in an hour and a half, Juicey." He glanced at their bodies, knotted together on the bed.

Juice reached for the alarm clock off the bedside table and examined it. "I thought they weren't supposed to be here until ten."

"Nothing's ever guaranteed," replied Chibs. He closed the door quietly.

Juice turned to Maxine. "Guess it's time to say goodbye."

"It's not goodbye. It's just a see-you-later." A few tears escaped Maxine's eyes, and Juice gently wiped them away with his palm. There was so much love and pain in the moment, it was overwhelming her.

"Wanna help me shave up before I go?" he said with a sad smile. Maxine sniffled and let out a choked laugh. _On his way to prison and he's still concerned about his hairstyle._

"Of course."

Even though time was an issue, Maxine was slow and deliberate as she circled the razor around Juice's head and face. Tenderness was needed in light of what was coming. When she finished shaving him, she allowed her arms to wrap around his chest, and leaned her head down to place a kiss on his mohawk. _I'll miss you_. But it went without saying.

"I've got half an hour." Juice leaned his head back and looked into her eyes.

"You should probably get dressed then," she replied.

She watched Juice move slowly to his closet – his shoulders hunched forward and arms hanging limply. He grabbed a fresh white t-shirt and her eyes were treated to the sight of his muscular back; sinews and tendons flexing as he pulled it on.

Suddenly she was striding across the room and encircling his waist from behind. Laying kisses against his bare skin. Maxine's hands reached for his belt, undoing the silver SAMCRO buckle he always wore, and unzipped his jeans. They fell to a heap at his ankles.

Juice was silent but she could hear his breath coming in heavy pants as she pushed him against the closet door and sank to her knees. Her mouth was a warm, wet, cavernous pit of desire. A combination of his taste and size made her moan around him as she sucked hungrily, savouring the way he filled her mouth and hit the back of her throat. Juice hand grabbed her hair by the crown and roughly pushed her to take him deeper. Maxine gagged slightly but it only increased her resolve.

Her fingers were digging into his hips, becoming white from the pressure. She could feel him getting close from the way his body bucked each time she slurped loudly down his length.

"No." Juice pulled her head away. Maxine looked at him, her eyes filled with lust and sorrow, pleading. _Let me taste you. Let me make you feel better. Let me make you forget everything for just a few minutes._

He crouched, joining her on his knees. Maxine was fully clothed while Juice was naked, save for the pants hooped around his ankles. He leaned over her, his body an impressive sculpture carved from hundreds of hours of spent sweat. She took in the full sight of him: the intricate tattoos that adorned his arms and showed his love of brotherhood, the small Sanskrit symbols that peeked from under his chest, the erection that stood proudly in the cool of his bedroom, the damp perspiration that glistened on his body, the five gold rings that adorned his strong hands, and those massive brown eyes that stared at her from a curtain of thick lashes. He was breathtaking in his powerful, masculine beauty. She'd never loved someone's body the way she loved his.

_Seventeen minutes. _His lips were tender against hers_. _Juice gently pushed her back against the floor, kissing at her waist and thighs as he pulled down her jeans and underwear. Maxine gasped. His fingers grazed against her bare lips, stimulating her. As he pushed a finger inside his thumb continued to stroke her clit, and he added a second finger, pumping in and out of her at a desperate pace. Her gasps descended into moans, and her moans pitched into screams as she came, covering Juice's fingers with her own.

_Twelve minutes_. Juice touched himself, wiping her arousal onto his cock. He pulled her body closer to his, dragging her by the hips along the carpet. Maxine felt the burn and sting against her back. Pain was good - punishment for wanting things she couldn't have. Her shirt was bunched up around her breasts, nipples straining against the fabric, and she watched as Juice buried his face between them and thrusted inside of her. The feel of him filling her was sublime. She could feel every ridge and vein. He began by canting his hips, gently rocking into her and allowing them to relish in the feel of their combined bodies, but quickly began to slam into her core, making her cry out in a combination of sorrow and lust.

_Three minutes_. Maxine's fingers were frantic, reaching down to her thighs and feverishly rubbing at herself. The world was falling apart. Juice's normally clean and tidy room was filled with messy moans and grunts, threatening to overtake them both. Maxine felt her body instinctively clench around his pulsing member. She began to sob as she came again, the sadness and pleasure twinning together in a blinding sensation. Seconds later she could feel warmth spilling out and filling up inside of her as Juice joined her.

He was panting and moaning and crying and kissing her. All at once.

_Two minutes_. Maxine continued to cry as Juice slid out of her. Her body felt empty. She could hear his jeans being pulled up and buttoned, heard the clink of his signature buckle. She felt Juice's hands tugging at her own jeans, could hear his voice pleading. Somehow she was dressed and her shirt had been smoothed down. Juice picked her up. Maxine couldn't breathe through his needy kisses – she was grasping at him, holding his naked torso as he attempted to put his t-shirt back on.

"Maxie," he whispered. She looked into his eyes. They were red-rimmed and wet; trails of tears drying from the corners and down his face. She brushed them away with her hand, as he had done so many times for her. "It's time."

_One minute._ The Teller-Morrow lot was a collection of club members, old ladies, and close friends. Half-Sack sprinted towards them the second they emerged into the blinding morning light. Maxine felt numb as she watched Juice hug him, saying a hurried goodbye. Others appeared, clapping hands on his shoulders and murmuring words that were probably meant to be encouraging. Her tears had long since dried.

It seemed like they were watching a movie as several black vans tore into the lot, "ATF" emblazoned in yellow block letters on the sides. Everything sounded muffled almost as if this were all taking place underwater. Men clad in black tactical gear, wielding automatic rifles, spilled out of the vans and shouted at the huddled crowd. Papers were thrusted into the air as voices screamed of warrants and arrests. Juice was torn from her side and shoved into cuffs with his brothers. The last look they shared was as he was pushed into the back of an armoured vehicle; the ATF agent held his head down, preventing him from hitting his head against the roof, but Juice turned to the clubhouse, his eyes searching and settling on her. All the breath went out of her lungs.

_I love you._

* * *

_Writer's Note: _This was obviously a different version of the show's events, but in my ignoring of the entire Belfast storyline, Jimmy O and everything else wasn't necessary. Ant returns next chapter & Juice adjusts to prison life. Maxine adjusts to... everything.

Please review! I would love feedback on this piece especially. (And my apologies for the long update time.)


	14. Drinking

**I previously posted a version of Chapter 14 entitled 'Visitation.' It was really rushed and disjointed, and honestly didn't fit with the rest of the story. So, I've completely changed the content here, and the direction I'm taking the story in! This chapter begins three days after the arrests and is mostly just a filler. Cheers.**

* * *

"Okay little lady, time to stop the pity party. My own son and husband are in jail and I'm not carrying on even half as bad as you." Gemma gave Maxine's limp body a shove. "Get off the couch and clean yourself up."

Maxine silently obliged and shuffled towards the washroom. The door was ajar and the light was on, but she didn't notice it was occupied until she'd entered.

"Shit, sorry Opie." She averted her eyes from the tall figure. Opie snorted and zipped his jeans while kicking at the flush handle with his heavy work boot.

"S'all yours now."

Maxine walked to over to the hissing toilet as Opie washed his hands, but instead closed the lid and sat down. It seemed like everything set her off and no one would comfort her. _If Juice were here... _Maxine felt alone. She sniffled pitifully and stared at the floor.

The tap turned off. Crossing his arms, Opie leaned against the cold tile wall and calculated her pathetic form.

"How're you holding up with all this?" he asked gruffly.

"I'm the model of self-control," she replied dryly. "Can't you tell?"

"You're acting like you've never seen someone go to prison before. It's not the end of the goddamn world."

"I haven't seen someone go to prison before! Just because I spent five years there doesn't mean I know how to handle this. I feel useless, Opie." Maxine's voice was a desperate whine.

Opie changed topics, ignoring her self-pity. "You never told me what you were charged with."

"Possession with intent to distribute. Sniffer dogs found my personal stash of H on a ferry crossing the border into the US. Didn't ever get caught with the actual stuff I'd been muleing into Canada for the past eight months before that. I imagine my sentence would have been a tad longer if they found _that _supply." She smiled grimly.

"Yeah?" From Opie's lack of reaction, Maxine couldn't tell if she was winning any sympathy points here, but once she started she couldn't stop. It got tiring trying to keep up with all the secrets she kept in her head, because she only ever seemed to tell half-truths or no truths at all. And after hanging around with the Sons this long there were some things that probably should have been said by now that hadn't.

"It was going so good, you know?" Maxine sighed and stared at the ceiling. "I'd been hanging out with the MC at the clubhouse for a couple years; it was where my dad drank. I was just a kid and everyone thought it was hilarious to get me wasted at parties. That first time I injected dope I was at a pretty low point – sixteen and going nowhere, practically dropped out of school. I didn't have the money to pay for it, so Andy said I could do some favours."

"You rat when you got caught?"

"Think I'd be standing here if I did, Ope? My life turned to shit because of the club. But I was the one who chose to stay with them."

"What about this club? Things turning to shit here too?" he asked, his eyes unreadable.

"I'm not leaving. I want to be part of this family." A few tears rolled down her cheek. _Stop crying, get it together. _Opie nodded.

"Maybe you should talk to Donna. She knows firsthand what it's like to wait for someone."

Maxine was caught off guard. "I-I'm not waiting for anyone."

"Sure you aren't," scoffed Opie.

He exited, leaving Maxine alone with her thoughts and a surprised look on her face.

...

While Maxine and Opie finished their chat in the washroom, Gemma stood outside and assessed the hunched figure that walked into her parking lot. The kid was so bowed over that he looked like he wanted to disappear within himself.

_This is the worst idea_, thought Antonio. JC – or Juice, whatever his name was – had come by his grandma's house over a month and a half ago now. _He probably wasn't even serious when he said he'd teach me stuff._

At first, Antonio had brushed off Juice's offer. He wasn't stupid enough to go within a two mile radius of that clubhouse, and by extension, that garage. But without income from cooking and selling crystal, it was becoming evident that Juice was right. Gran still needed support and support meant money. So even if Juice had just been kidding about helping him earn clean, it was worth a shot.

Thankfully, the lot seemed more or less empty when he arrived – much unlike last time when he was certain every single member was present to watch him piss his pants in fear – except he soon realized that no patches meant he had no idea how to find Juice.

A woman was standing near the Teller-Morrow office, puffing erratically at a cigarette. It didn't really look like she wanted to talk to him – or anyone for that matter – but based on the ghost town outside it seemed like neither of them had a choice.

She barely acknowledged him as he walked up. The still smoking cigarette was crushed under a black stiletto boot, making a loud grinding noise that for some reason sent a shiver up his spine.

"Hi, uh, ma'am. I'm looking for someone."

"And who would that be, sweetie?" There was nothing sweet about her and Ant knew damn well there wasn't anything sweet about him either.

"Er, I think his name's Juice."

"Well you won't find him around here. He's in Stockton until next summer."

"Shit. I need to talk to him." Ant felt panic set in. _What am I gonna do?_

"Get in line, kid." The woman gestured towards the boxing ring that hung back in the shadows of the clubhouse. Ant hadn't noticed it before. An exhausted-looking girl sat alone in the middle of the ring, although who exactly had defeated her wasn't clear.

* * *

"Ah, shit boys! It's Roxanne!" bellowed Chibs as the familiar opening bars began to play over loud clubhouse speakers. "Maxie, yer with me. Sack and Koz drink to red light."

"What?" Maxine was beyond confused. Chibs was hard enough to understand to begin with, but get a little liquor in his system and that Scottish brogue descended into something not entirely English.

Half-Sack took pity on her and translated. "It's a game. Just drink every time Sting says Roxanne."

She'd already taken three shots by the time the chorus hit. Chibs had bellowed out every lyric, rolling the R on each Roxanne before drinking. Half-Sack and Koz drank every time 'red light' was mentioned, which seemed to be about the same frequency as 'Roxanne.'

_Roxanne, you don't have to put on the red light_. Maxine swore that line had been repeated a thousand times already – she couldn't keep up. Chibs had long ago discarded his glass and instead took hearty swigs straight from a bottle of Jameson. Maxine laughed at the sight of them all. Beer was dribbling down Half-Sack's chin and Kozik's eyes were bloodshot. Finally, the song finished and she stumbled into a hug with Chibs.

"Me 'n the ring rat won!" he proclaimed.

"I don't think that's actually a game you can win…" said Half-Sack.

"Shut up, Prospect." Kozik's words weren't malicious, and he gave Sack a hearty shove to show he was kidding.

It felt good to get wasted and goof around. Drinking was about the only time Maxine felt happy these days, and thankfully, Chibs had taken up as her drinking partner so she felt happy a lot. He was inviting her to drink at the clubhouse nearly every night now for the past two weeks. Sometimes there was a party and sometimes it was just the two of them, drinking solemnly and avoiding discussing why they felt the need to drink in the first place. He seemed just as lonely as she was, except he was better at hiding it. This arrest was different than other times - she knew that much - it had broken something deep within the club.

She finished off her beer and stumbled towards the bar to grab another. A strong hand gripped her arm when she tripped.

"I think you've had enough." Opie's eyes bored into her.

"Ha! You're funny. I'm totally f-fine," she slurred. She struggled out of his grip and continued her determined, drunken path. Opie didn't give up that easily, however, and he effortlessly scooped her body up and plunked her down at a table with a couple croweaters.

"Here, make some friends," he said, slightly smirking. He gave a 'cut-off' gesture to the other girls and pointed at Maxine before walking away.

"Hey, I'm Julie."

"Layla."

"And I'm Maxine!" she said a little too loudly.

"I think I've seen you around before," said Julie carefully. "You're Juice's friend right?"

"I miss Juice," sighed Layla.

Maxine contemplated her. "Yeah, why?"

The two girls giggled in response and shared a look. "Isn't it obvious? He's a total babe and tons of fun in bed."

"And such a sweetheart, too," added Julie. "Unlike the rest of the guys, he doesn't kick you out of bed, and he knows how to make you feel _good_." A grin spread across both their faces. Layla licked her lips and looked almost wistful.

Maxine already felt like she was swimming in a sea of booze and now it was coupled with a tsunami of feelings she'd been trying to drink away. She excused herself and disappeared outside. Frustrated, she flicked at her lighter that refused to spark. A few tears slipped down her face.

"It's kinda stupid to cry over an empty lighter, dontcha think?" Kozik moved to stand next to her and extended his black Zippo, engraved with a reaper. Maxine hadn't noticed him leaning against the wall before.

"Thanks." She wiped her tears with the back of her hand.

"Missing him, hey?" he said softly. She sniffled and gave him a small, sad smile.

"Just a little."

"It gets better. You just have to pull yourself together and focus on something else."

"Everyone keeps saying that," she sighed.


	15. History

_Fun fact: All of the French names used here are the names of my great-grandmothers and grandfathers. This is really short, one-off chapter. Normal update soon - I've lost some direction and interest with this story so I'm planning to wrap it up._

**Thank you to hazeleyedcurly and laughingwarrior for being supportive penpals & great reviewers!**

* * *

Maxine is six. She's giggling. Mama picks her up, twirls her around, and sets her back down on the ground. A feather so black – it's almost blue – is tucked gently into her hair by Mama's warm brown hands. A raven's feather.

Mama whispers that Daddy is coming soon, that he'll be here any minute even. Maxine nods. It is very important when Daddy visits, she's so excited. "Therese! Xavier!" she calls out. Her big brother and sister come running in the front door. Therese has a cut on her cheek, it's bleeding. Maxine wonders how Therese can look so sad. Daddy is coming!

His big arms scoop her up. He smells like the ocean, wise and salty. His beard tickles her face when he whispers to her in French; special words that are trapped in the shell of her ear and echo deep. He touches Therese's cheek and looks solemn as the blood smears with his finger.

"They're bothering you again, aren't they Xavier? You have to protect your little sisters."

"He's only a child, Andre. Leave him be." Mama and Daddy have serious voices. The kind of voices you only hear when you do something bad, like forget to turn off the tap in the bathtub because your toys wanted to play in a waterfall.

"_Crisse_, it'll only get worse. I don't understand why you don't just move into my apartment. Get these kids off the reservation, they don't belong here."

"You're on a fishing boat for three months at a time. I don't know anyone in the city, and the children… they need to be a part of this."

"A part of what? Getting beat up for being half-white?"

"Not everyone thinks that way. Most don't care, and it'd be just as bad if I put them into some public school, they'd be the wrong colour all over again. Don't deny it, Andre. Here at least they have culture and community."

…

Maxine is twelve. She's quiet. Mama is in the wind, swirling away and slipping through her fingers. She stands beside the stretch of Salish Sea that borders her reservation. Her siblings, her father, and her mother's people stand at her side, mourning. Maxine knows that this is just part of another journey, but she needs her mother. She vanishes from her life so fast that Maxine can't ever be sure she was even here at all.

She understands what the word "empty" means for the first time. It's not something you measure with a glass or a cup. It's the hollow spot in your belly, as if your body knows it's missing an essential piece, that grows bigger before it gets smaller.

Her father gets his wish - the Robichaud children move off the Native reservation they've spent every moment of their small lives on, and move into a cramped apartment on the outskirts of Vancouver.

…

Maxine is thirteen. She's sneaky. The glass shatters when she punches it with a wrapped fist, and her nimble hand ventures through the broken door pane to flip the lock free. They're inside of a house that she and her friends can only dream of ever being able to afford. It makes her feel reckless - these people have so much, it's only fair that she should get a little. She stuffs anything expensive-looking and portable into her knapsack. Her greed makes her blind to the flashing red light on the wall-mounted security panel.

"Shit, we gotta get out of here!" Christian's voice comes out in a hiss. He grabs Maxine's wrist, but a larger, stronger hand grabs her other one and wrenches her away.

Maxine refuses to reveal her friends' identities. Christian escaped. She's slapped with six months community service by a forgiving judge.

…

Maxine is fifteen. She's drunk. She's also high on what she thinks may be Klonopin. Xavier is in the corner of the clubhouse and his face is welded to his girlfriend's mouth. Therese is dancing next to a man who looks old enough to be their father, which, speaking of Daddy… He's in his usual spot. Head sunk over a drink, eyes all moony. He doesn't care that his children have started coming to the clubhouse over the past year. It's free babysitting.

He doesn't care about anything. Not even when Xavier moves 700km away with his suck-mouth girlfriend to work at an oil refinery a few weeks later. Or when Therese disappears. Maxine hears the gossip – she got pregnant with a hangaround's kid – but her sister is too out of reach to ask for the truth. If she's honest with herself, Therese disappeared from her life long before this, along with Mama.

He doesn't care when Maxine stops going to school or when she begins to spend days at the clubhouse, seeking a new high with new friends. Pulling minor crimes. And of course he doesn't care when she gets a tattoo on her shoulder one wasted night on the reservation, because he hardly notices.

He maybe begins to care a little when Maxine steals his motorcycle for a joy ride. He's too drunk to drive it anyway, it's soon forgotten at the bottom of a glass.

…

Maxine is seventeen. She's shivering. She hopes her father cares now. It's her first night in juvie.

...

Maxine is twenty four. She's celebrating. She blows out the flame from her lighter and pretends it's a birthday candle just so she can make a wish. She knows she's just supposed to get one wish, but she flicks the lighter over and over anyway, extinguishes it each time with a breath full of hopes and dreams. She wishes for things like rent money, more vodka, her best friend. Juice. Only one wish comes true and it's clear in colour. It burns every inch of the way down but it soothes the empty that began to gnaw a hole in her belly when she was twelve.

She is her father's daughter and she decides she doesn't mind if he doesn't care about anything - she's beginning to feel the same way.


	16. Russian

_**A/N:** I realize this story is set in California, but unfortunately I'm not familiar with the U.S. medical system. I realize it is privatized and that you can't simply "go to the clinic" but let's just suspend disbelief here and pretend you can! (Writing a story about a foreigner trying to obtain insurance or pay off a massive hospital debt really isn't an exciting story.)_

_This chapter reads like an episode from a cheesy, overwrought soap opera. I'm expecting my call from the production crew for "All My Bikers" or "St. Thomas General Hospital" any day now._

* * *

Juice ran his finger over the three scars that knotted together on his back. Two of them were healed enough that he couldn't feel anything, but the third prickled at the touch of his callused hand. The trio were a reminder. Post-it notes for his skin.

One scar for the single day he'd spent in San Joaquin lockup, another for Dion's unwanted touch, and a third for the shiv that stabbed into his body.

"Alright, stop touching yourself. I'm hungry. The calvalry's arrived." Tig rattled the frame of the bunk bed and strolled over to the front of the cell, looking through the bars expectantly. Juice hopped off the top bunk and stood next to him. Guards walked past the endless rows of cells, barking out orders. Inmates were inspected and lined up to be lead to the mess hall.

Tig and Juice took their seats at a metal table, carved up with graffiti, and were soon joined by their other four incarcerated brothers.

Breakfast was a bowl of oatmeal that was surprisingly somewhat warm and tasted a little better than the usual fare. Tig immediately stole Juice's brown sugar and dumped it into his own bowl. Juice began to protest; Tig defended himself by saying Juice was brown enough.

"Not to mention very sweet," added Clay, putting an arm around his shoulder and laughing. They all groaned and stood from the metal table, heading off their separate ways. As usual, Juice was escorted down to the bottom floor of the prison, which housed the boilers and laundry machines. Juice greeted Anwar, his partner in dirty laundry, and set to loading a washer with sheets.

Five hours later, the bell sounded for lunch. A guard grunted at Juice and Anwar and they returned to the mess hall. Juice's eyes automatically scanned for Sons – it was too dangerous to be caught alone, especially in busy areas where the number of inmates greatly outmatched the guards. Tensions had begun brewing with the Russians the second the club was placed into gen pop, just under three weeks ago.

He couldn't spot anyone from SAMCRO in time – the guard who'd escorted him from the laundry room was impatiently shoving him into the line for food. Juice's stomach twisted. And it wasn't from hunger. He'd never been unsure of where his brothers were before, left vulnerable. It was all he could do to keep the plastic food tray in his hands from shaking.

It was almost as if his fear was being broadcasted through the loudspeaker. A large hand settled on his hip and Juice stiffened. Coarse hairs of a goatee bristled against his exposed neck and warm, cloying breath dampened as it settled on his skin.

"Mm, you look lonely, my friend." The Russian accent was present, though not as thick as others Juice had heard before. Those voices, with their jangling cadence, haunted his dreams. Juice shuffled forward, still awkwardly held in the man's grasp, and stuck his tray out to the server for food. The Russian chuckled lowly. The sound came out in heavy puffs against Juice's ear.

"It's not good to be alone. You never know who is watching. Tell the blonde man that Russia sends its love."

The hand melted back into the crowd and Juice's skin felt like it had been branded. The moment couldn't have lasted more than twenty seconds, but twenty seconds had been all it took in San Joa for a repurposed toothbrush to nearly kill him. His scars itched uncomfortably.

* * *

Maxine sat on her kitchen floor, doodling designs in the rice that she had accidentally spilled all over the linoleum, her finger trailing through the tiny white jasmine seeds. Gemma and Opie had finally hauled her out of the clubhouse and ended her stay in Juice's room. The prospects had been given strict instruction and now wouldn't serve her any alcohol, so Maxine saw no reason to stay anyway. Plus, Juice's sheets had long since lost his scent, so she stole a few of his shirts and brought them home.

She felt aimless. Father McCullough hadn't contacted her in weeks despite his promise and her bank account was suffering. Opie was now the club's interim president, with Chibs and Kozik as his respective Vice and Sergeant, and he demanded more of his dwindling numbers, even the prospects. Maxine never saw Half-Sack anymore – even if he wasn't tied up with club business, he was up to his neck in all things Cherry. Even that freaking teenager, Ant, had more purpose than her. She couldn't remember when exactly he started hanging around the clubhouse, but the boys had put him to work in the garage and around the shop. He was practically Chucky's shadow.

_Twenty four years old with no job, no partner, no friends, and no family._ She had nothing to show for this life except for a rap sheet. Her loneliness wasn't helped by the fact that she'd been feeling horrible physically lately. She was tired of feeling like shit.

Though she'd already had a bit to drink today, she hopped on her bike regardless and headed for a clinic. She needed to see a doctor.

The waiting room was white and sterile in the way that medical establishments were wont to do. She sat in an uncomfortable chair, aimlessly flipping through magazines. Frustrated with _Golf Weekly_ and _Business Insider_, she walked over to a stand of pamphlets.

_Depression & U._

She picked up the pale blue pamphlet, examining the stock photo on the front, a tearful looking model with mascara streaked cheeks. She didn't know why she was even looking at this – she wasn't depressed. She looked nothing like the woman in the photo… Her thoughts were interrupted by a nurse calling. "Miss Robichaud?" She shoved the pamphlet in her bag and followed the nurse down the hall.

* * *

The plastic clattered to the floor. Maxine gasped and clutched at her belly. She didn't need to look at the little indicator screen again. The nurse hadn't lied to her, but she needed to know the truth for herself. Wasn't it good to get a second opinion? Two little lines meant big things.

_A baby. _A month ago she'd cried as Juice's body tangled up with hers, their bodies lying limp against the dirty carpet as they came. It'd been quick, unexpected, and unprotected. The rash from being dragged along the floor had long since healed. Other things hadn't.

_A baby. _Her skin broke out into a sweat as she pictured herself, twenty four years old, trying to be a mother. Five years in prison had kept her innocent in certain ways – she felt just as inept as the seventeen year old junkie she once was.

_A baby. _Skin the colour of Puerto Rican, French Canadian, and Native heritage. Soulful, wide brown eyes. Soft, dark tufts of hair. Long, aquiline nose. A tender heart.

_A baby. _Maxine's eyes flew open at the thought of a deformed, crying creature. She'd drank her way through much of the past month without Juice, blearily unaware of the potential that grew inside of her. Sobs wracked her body. She hadn't touched a needle in over six years now, but that addictive blood still flowed through her veins.

_A baby. A baby. A baby._


End file.
